He spoke very little, but his white face, his tired eyes, his listless conversation, showed the occupation of his mind.

It was indeed a melancholy evening.
To Olva, his nerves being already on edge, it was almost intolerable.
They passed from the drawing-room into a tiny dining-room--a room that was as dingy and faded as the rest, with a dull red paper on the walls and an old blue carpet.

The old woman waited; the food was of the simplest.
Mrs.Craven scarcely spoke at all.

She sat with her eyes gravely fixed in front of her, save when she raised them to flash them for an instant at Olva.

He found this sudden gaze extraordinarily disconcerting; it was as though she were reasserting her claim to some common understanding that existed between them, to some secret that belonged to them alone.
They avoided, for the most part, Carfax's death.