‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Fortescue’s steps, and encountered him with an air of artless surprise. It does not matter to him either way. He had become an extremely handsome man, his hair having darkened and his shoulders having realized their full size. just furtive meetings. She had found that proof.
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