“I suppose, in spite of all, in a way we are akin,” she thought.
And she began to wish vaguely that he knew it, that he knew what had happened between her and Beryl. As she looked at his “cauliflower,” bent towards her while he talked, at his strong soldier’s face, at his faithful eyes, the eyes of the “old dog,” she wished that it were possible to let Seymour know a little bit of the best of her. Not that she was proud of what she had done. She was too much akin to Seymour to be proud of such a thing, But Seymour would be pleased with her. And it would be pleasant to give him pleasure. It would be like giving him a small, a very small, reward for his long faithfulness, for his very beautiful and touching loyalty.
“What is it, Adela?” he said.
And a keen, searching look had come into his eyes.
She smiled vaguely, meeting his gaze. She still felt curiously detached, although she was able to think quite connectedly.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I feel you are not as usual to-day.”
“In what way?”
“Something has happened. I don’t, of course, wish to know what it is. But it has changed you, my dear.”