" And that evening he said--
"Rosamond, have you heard anything that distresses you?"
"Yes," she answered, laying down her work, which she had been carrying
on with a languid semi-consciousness, most unlike her usual self.
"What have you heard?"
"Everything, I suppose. Papa told me."
"That people think me disgraced?"
"Yes," said Rosamond, faintly, beginning to sew again automatically.
There was silence. Lydgate thought, "If she has any trust in me--
any notion of what I am, she ought to speak now and say that she does
not believe I have deserved disgrace."
But Rosamond on her side went on moving her fingers languidly.
Whatever was to be said on the subject she expected to come from Tertius.
What did she know? And if he were innocent of any wrong, why did
he not do something to clear himself?
This silence of hers brought a new rush of gall to that bitter mood
in which Lydgate had been saying to himself that nobody believed
in him--even Farebrother had not come forward. He had begun to
question her with the intent that their conversation should disperse
the chill fog which had gathered between them, but he felt his
resolution checked by despairing resentment. Even this trouble,
like the rest, she seemed to regard as if it were hers alone.
He was always to her a being apart, doing what she objected to.
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