That was all.
Wentworth, who had never seen Fay before, as she had married just before he came to live at his uncle's place in Hampshire near Fay's home, saw the marks of grief in her lovely face, and was unconsciously drawn towards her.

He was shy as only men can be; but he almost forgot it in her sympathetic presence.

She came into his isolated, secluded life at the moment when the barriers of his instinctive timidity and apathy were broken down by his first real trouble.

And he was grateful to her for having done her best to save Michael.
"I shall never forget that," he said, when he came to bid her good-bye.
"There are very few women who would have had the courage and unselfishness to act as you did." Fay winced and paled, and he took his leave, bearing away with him a grave admiration for this delicate, sensitive creature, so full of tender compassion for him and Michael.
He made no attempt to see her again when he returned to Italy some months later to visit Michael in prison.

To visit Fay on that occasion would have taken him somewhat out of his way, and Wentworth never went out of his way, not out of principle, but because such a course never occurred to him.