These two last were to her mind the most significant of the early terrors.
And in less than five minutes she knew that the child was not going to talk about herself and that she had been right in making up her own mind to wait.

Whatsoever the strain of silence, there would be no speech now.
The piteous darkness of her eye held a stillness that was heart-breaking.

It was a stillness of such touching endurance of something inevitable.

Whatsoever had happened to her, whatsoever was going to happen to her, she would make no sound.

She would outwardly be affectionate, pretty-mannered Miss Robin just as Dowie herself would give all her strength to trying to seem to be nothing and nobody but Dowie.