"I praise the
Frenchman, his remark was shrewd -- / 'How sweet, how passing sweet, is
solitude!'
But grant me still a
friend in my retreat / Whom I may whisper, 'Solitude is sweet.'"
-- William Cowper
He walks in a circle of silence bounded by whispers. Once they were meant to be overheard: admiring, envious, laced with look-at-me-oh-no-DON'T! giggles. But now ... now he's discovering how much easier it is not to give a damn what people think of you when they consider you mysterious and aloof rather than unpredictable and vicious.
Only one person crosses the circle as if it doesn't exist, tripping up to him without regard for his reputation -- or his privacy. He listens for her step, ready to give her alone a piece of his mind.