"Unless what?"
"Unless he gets his eyesight again."
"Do you mean that Gwen will put him off, if he sees her?"
"No—come now—I say, Miss Dickenson—hang it all!"
"Well, I didn't know! How was I to?"
Some mysterious change in the conditions of the conversation came about unaccountably, causing a laugh both joined in with undisguised cordiality; they might almost be said to have hob-nobbed over a unanimous appreciation of Gwen. Its effect was towards a mellower familiarity—an expurgation of starch, which might even hold good until one of them wrote an order for some more. For this lady and gentleman, however much an interview might soften them, had always hitherto restiffened for the next one. At this exact moment, Mr. Pellew entered on an explanation of his meaning in a lower key, for seriousness; and walked perceptibly nearer the lady. Because a dropped voice called for proximity.
"What I meant to say was, that pity for the poor chap's misfortune may have more to do with Gwen's feelings towards him—you understand?—than she herself thinks."
"I quite understand. Go on."
"If he were to recover his sight outright there would be nothing left to pity him for. Is it not conceivable that she might change altogether?"
"She would not admit it, even to herself."