I do not want to see you, Helen.
I must be alone just now." "You are sure you are not ill ?" she insisted.
"Quite sure." "Well," she said reluctantly, "I'll go, but call me just as soon as I can come, will you ?" "Yes," he answered, "but do not come until I do call you." She heard him walk back to his study table, and then silence seemed to fall like a shadow on her heart.

She was more bewildered than before.
John was in trouble, and she could not help him.

Nevertheless, she did not speak again; she was one of those unusual women who are content to wait until the moment it is needed, to give their sympathy or tenderness.
So she went to her own room, and sat wistfully looking out at the sweet spring day; she could not read while this anxiety filled her mind, and her hands were idle in her lap.

She did not even summon John to luncheon, knowing he would come if he saw fit; for herself, she could not eat.

It was almost five, when she heard John push his chair back (she was sitting on the lowest step of the staircase, which ended at the study door, leaning her head against the frame), and again her ear caught the heavy, long-drawn sigh.