Mr. Tulkinghorn does so with deference and holds it open while she passes out. She passes close to him, with her usual fatigued manner and insolent grace. They meet again at dinner--again, next day--again, for many days in succession. Lady Dedlock is always the same exhausted deity, surrounded by worshippers, and terribly liable to be bored to death, even while presiding at her own shrine. Mr. Tulkinghorn is always the same speechless repository of noble confidences, so oddly out of place and yet so perfectly at home. They appear to take as little note of one another as any two people enclosed within the same walls could. But whether each evermore watches and suspects the other, evermore mistrustful of some great reservation; whether each is evermore prepared at all points for the other, and never to be taken unawares; what each would give to know how much the other knows--all this is hidden, for the time, in their own hearts.
Mr. Tulkinghorn holds it open while she passes out, with her usual fatigued manner and insolent grace.
They meet again at dinner, and again, for many days in succession. Lady Dedlock is always the same exhausted deity, surrounded by worshippers, and terribly liable to be bored to death. Mr. Tulkinghorn is always silent, oddly out of place and yet perfectly at home. They appear to take no notice of each other. But whether each evermore watches and suspects the other, mistrustful of some great secret; and what each would give to know how much the other knows - all this is hidden, for the time, in their own hearts.