A tortoise-shell cat which had been watching swallows, disturbed by his entrance, withdrew from the window beneath a chair.
This silence, in which the question of their future lives was to be decided, seemed to both interminable; yet, neither could end it.
At last, touching his sleeve, she said: "You're wet!" Miltoun shivered at that timid sign of possession.

And they again stood in silence broken only by the sound of the cat licking its paws.
But her faculty for dumbness was stronger than his, and--he had to speak first.
"Forgive me for coming; something must be settled.

This--rumour----" "Oh! that!" she said.

"Is there anything I can do to stop the harm to you ?" It was the turn of Miltoun's lips to curl.

"God! no; let them talk!" Their eyes had come together now, and, once together, seemed unable to part.
Mrs.Noel said at last: "Will you ever forgive me ?" "What for--it was my fault." "No; I should have known you better." The depth of meaning in those words--the tremendous and subtle admission they contained of all that she had been ready to do, the despairing knowledge in them that he was not, and never had been, ready to 'bear it out even to the edge of doom'-- made Miltoun wince away.
"It is not from fear--believe that, anyway." "I do." There followed another long, long silence! But though so close that they were almost touching, they no longer looked at one another.