A glance at her face was enough; vexed, shocked, yet every sympathy instantly aroused, he resigned himself to whatever might be required of him; and within him a bitter mirth stirred--acrid, unpleasant; but his smile indicated only charmed surprise.
"I didn't suppose you'd care for a stroll with me," he said; "it is exceedingly nice of you to give me the chance." "I didn't want to be left alone," she said.
"It is rather quiet here since our gay birds have migrated," he said in a matter-of-fact way.

"Which direction shall we take ?" "I--don't care." "The woods ?" "No," with a shudder so involuntary that he noticed it.
"Well, then, we'll go cross country----" She looked at her thin, low shoes and then at him.
"Certainly," he said, "that won't do, will it ?" She shook her head.
They were passing the Lodge now where his studio was and where he had intended to pack up his canvases that afternoon.
"I'll brew you a cup of tea if you like," he said; "that is, if it's not too unconventional to frighten you." She smiled and nodded.

Behind the smile her heavy thoughts throbbed on: How much did this man know?
How much did he suspect?
And if he suspected, how good he was in every word to her--how kind and gentle and high-minded! And the anguish in her smile caused him to turn hastily to the door and summon old Miller to bring the tea paraphernalia.
There was nothing to look at in the studio; all the canvases lay roped in piles ready for the crates; but Sylvia's gaze remained on them as though even the rough backs of the stretchers fascinated her.
"My father was an artist.

After he married he did not paint.

My mother was very wealthy, you know....