"I'm sorry I spoke, now," he said.

"I never know enough to hold my tongue to you." He turned bulkily on his heel and left the dining-hall.

There were others, in throngs, leaving--young, eager-faced fellows, with a scattering of the usual "dancing" men on whom everybody could always count, and a few middle-aged gentlemen and women of the younger married set to give stability to what was, otherwise, a debutante's affair.
Dysart, strolling about, booked a dance or two, performed creditably, made his peace, for the sake of peace, with Sylvia Quest, whose ignorant heart had been partly awakened under his idle investigations.

But this was Sylvia's second season, and she would no doubt learn several things of which she heretofore had been unaware.

Just at present, however, her heart was very full, and life's outlook was indeed tragic to a young girl who believed herself wildly in love with a married man, and who employed all her unhappy wits in the task of concealing it.
A load of guilt lay upon her soul; the awful fact that she adored him frightened her terribly; that she could not keep away from him terrified her still more.