It was getting to be too much of a scene. Skelton turned towards Bulstrode, who was utterly abject and pitiable. The collapse of any human being is overpowering, but of a man with an intellect like Bulstrode’s it became terrible. Mrs. Blair’s large and beautiful eyes filled with tears that rolled down her cheeks and upon her bare, white neck. She put her hand on Bulstrode’s arm; it was the first kind touch of a woman’s hand that he had felt for thirty years. “It was your kindness, your tenderness for me and mine that made you tell me; and if all the world turns against you, I will not.” Bulstrode raised her hand to his lips and kissed it reverently, and her womanly compassion seemed to awaken some spark of manliness in him. He made no further appeal. Skelton all this time was cold with rage. He had been in rages with Bulstrode many times, and he had wreaked vengeance on him; he could say words to Bulstrode that would make him wince, but he could not say them before Mrs. Blair. After a moment he bowed low to her again. “I will not detain you further. Only, pray remember that you are at liberty to take me at my word at any time.” Mrs. Blair paused a moment, and then, recovering herself, replied, with something like haughtiness: “I have no desire to inquire further; and since this knowledge has certainly not made me any happier, and as I am clear that the affair is in the hands of the law, I have no intention of making it known to anybody whatever.” Then she said to Bulstrode: “Good-night, my friend.” Skelton accompanied her quite to her carriage. He doubted the capacity of any woman to keep a secret, and he was in that state of furious displeasure and disappointment that the betrayal of what he earnestly desired to keep secret would place any man. But he had an unshakable composure. Mrs. Blair, knowing him as well as she did, could not but admire his coolness under agitating circumstances. Everybody then was going. Great family carriages were being drawn up before the broad porch. The lights had burned low, and there was a greyness over everything; a cloud of white mists lay over the green fields; the woods were bathed in a ghostly haze; it was the unearthly morning hour which is neither night nor day. Skelton stood in the middle of the hall telling everybody good-bye, receiving calmly and smilingly congratulations on his charming ball. Sylvia Shapleigh, her eyes languid with excitement and want of sleep, followed in her mother’s wake to say good-bye. She knew Skelton’s countenance perfectly, and she alone perceived that something strange and displeasing had happened.