midnight before
`` I am all right , '' he said with emphasis , but he returned the hand-grip with a warmth that left no doubt as to the cordiality of his feelings . He was ever too polished a gentleman to be discourteous . Left alone , Mordaunt sat down at his writing-table to clear off some work which he had taken out of his secretary 's hands earlier in the day . It was midnight before he finished , and even then he sat on for a long time deep in thought . It was probably true , what Bertrand had said . Tenderly as he loved his young wife , he had not succeeded in winning her confidence . There was no friendship between them in the most intimate sense of the word , and so she feared him .