For a little while they are silent. Lady Dedlock has eaten no dinner, but has twice or thrice poured out water with a steady hand and drunk it. She rises from table, takes a lounging-chair, and reclines in it, shading her face. There is nothing in her manner to express weakness or excite compassion. It is thoughtful, gloomy, concentrated. "This woman," thinks Mr. Tulkinghorn, standing on the hearth, again a dark object closing up her view, "is a study."
He studies her at his leisure, not speaking for a time. She too studies something at her leisure. She is not the first to speak, appearing indeed so unlikely to be so, though he stood there until midnight, that even he is driven upon breaking silence.

For a little while they are silent. Lady Dedlock rises from the table and reclines in a lounging-chair, shading her face. Her manner is thoughtful, gloomy, concentrated. "This woman," thinks Mr. Tulkinghorn, "is a study."
He studies her at his leisure. She too studies something at her leisure. She is not the first to speak. At last he is driven to break the silence.
