Let me alone!' He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down.
Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed by a very bitter shame.

He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from the girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he was, indeed, down and done for--masterful no longer but rather a little abject; neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up to--only some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of crying.

She was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him--more sorry than she had ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny his words.
So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love.
'Well ?' said Dick, his face steadily turned away.

'I never meant to worry you any more.

What's the matter ?' He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed.