And perhaps he's dead." Then it was Lord Coombe who left his chair.
"Thank you, Dowie," he said and before he began to walk up and down the tiny room she felt as if he made a slight bow to her.
She had said something that he had wished her to say.

She had removed some trying barrier for him instead of obliging him to help her to cross it and perhaps stumbling on her way.

She had neither stumbled nor clambered, she had swept it away out of his path and hers.

That was because she knew Miss Robin and had known her from her babyhood.
Though for some time he walked to and fro slowly as he talked she saw that it was easier for him to complete the relation of his story.

But as it proceeded it was necessary for her to make an effort to recall herself to a realisation of the atmosphere of the parlour and the narrow street outside the window--and she was glad to be assisted by the amiable rumble of Mr.Jenkinson's voice as heard from the back room when she found herself involuntarily leaning forward in her chair, vaguely conscious that she was drawing short breaths, as she listened to what he was telling her.