But now his faculties were alert and he used more
discretion than was necessary, for Henrietta, under the influence of
that instinct which persuades that not seeing is a precaution against
being seen, was scrupulous in avoiding the encounter of any eye.
He followed her to another tramcar which would take her to the
station; he followed her when she alighted once more and, seeing her
change that bag from one hand to another, as though she found it
heavy, he let out a groan so loud and heartfelt that it aroused the
pity of a passer-by, but he was really luxuriating in his sorrow for
her. It was an immense relief after much sorrowing for himself and it
induced a forgetfulness of everything but his determination to help
her.
It was easy to keep her in sight while she went up the broad approach
to the dull, crowded, badly lighted and dirty station: it was harder
to get near enough to hear what ticket she demanded. He did not hear,
but again he followed the little, shabby, yet somehow elegant figure,
and he took a place in the compartment next to the one she chose. It
was the London train, and he found himself hoping she was not going so
far; he felt that to see her disappearing into that house of which he
had the address in his pocket would be like seeing her disappear for
ever. He would lose his chance of helping her, or rather, she would
lose her chance of being helped, a slightly different aspect of the
affair and the one on which he had set his mind.
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