disliked him, but because she did not know what had happened, and
suspected that he did know. And this frightened her.

For the real event--whatever it was--had taken place, not in the
Loggia, but by the river. To behave wildly at the sight of death
is pardonable. But to discuss it afterwards, to pass from
discussion into silence, and through silence into sympathy, that
is an error, not of a startled emotion, but of the whole fabric.
There was really something blameworthy (she thought) in their
joint contemplation of the shadowy stream, in the common impulse
which had turned them to the house without the passing of a look
or word. This sense of wickedness had been slight at first. She
had nearly joined the party to the Torre del Gallo. But each time
that she avoided George it became more imperative that she should
avoid him again. And now celestial irony, working through her
cousin and two clergymen, did not suffer her to leave Florence
till she had made this expedition with him through the hills.

Meanwhile Mr. Eager held her in civil converse; their little tiff
was over.

"So, Miss Honeychurch, you are travelling? As a student of art?"

"Oh, dear me, no--oh, no!"

"Perhaps as a student of human nature," interposed Miss Lavish,
"like myself?"

"Oh, no. I am here as a tourist."