It was difficult to reconcile his self-control with his previous extravagance downstairs.
But to Colwyn it was apparent that his composure was simulated, the effort of a sensitive man who had betrayed a weakness to strangers, for the fingers which held a cigarette trembled slightly, and there were troubled shadows in the depths of the dark blue eyes.

Colwyn admired the young man's pluck--he would wish to behave the same way himself in similar circumstances, he felt--and he realised that the best service he and Sir Henry Durwood could render their fellow guest was to leave him alone.
But Sir Henry was far from regarding the matter in the same light.

As a doctor he was more at home in other people's bedrooms than his own, for rumour whispered that Lady Durwood was so jealous of her husband's professional privileges as a fashionable ladies' physician that she was in the habit of administering strong doses of matrimonial truths to him every night at home.

Sir Henry settled himself in his chair, adjusted his eye-glasses more firmly on his nose and regarded the young man standing by the mantelpiece with a bland professional smile, slightly dashed by the recollection that he was not receiving a fee for his visit.
"You have made a good recovery, but you'll need care," he said.
"Speaking as a professional man--I am Sir Henry Durwood--I think it would be better for you if you had somebody with you who understood your case.

With your--er--complaint, it is very desirable that you should not be left to the mercy of strangers.