As he went he took her hand and pressed it closely between his own. In those days when they were lovers,--engaged lovers, a close, long-continued pressure of her hand had been his most eloquent speech of love. He had not been given to many kisses,--not even to many words of love. But he would take her hand and hold it, even as he looked away from her, and she remembered well the touch of his palm. It was ever cool,--cool, and with a surface smooth as a woman's,--a small hand that had a firm grip. There had been days when she had loved to feel that her own was within it, when she trusted in it, and intended that it should be her staff through life. Now she distrusted it; and as the thoughts of the old days came upon her, and the remembrance of that touch was recalled, she drew her hand away rapidly. Not for that had she driven from her as honest a man as had ever wished to mate with a woman. He, George Vavasor, had never so held her hand since the day when they had parted, and now on this first occasion of her freedom she felt it again. What did he think of her? 
He took her hand and pressed it closely between his own. In the days when they were engaged, a close pressure of her hand had been his most eloquent speech of love. He had not been given to many kisses - not even to many words of love. But he would take her hand and hold it, and she remembered well the touch of his palm. It was a cool, smooth, small hand that had a firm grip. There had been days when she had loved to feel that her own was within it, when she trusted in it, as her staff through life.
Now she distrusted it; and she drew her hand away rapidly. What did he think of her? 