He, as a fashionable wealthy man, has the duty to hide his past while she, as a marriageable girl, to have no past to hide and face all the consequences of being, the most sensible being in the world.
She looked out and realized, how alone she was, still, she could not do anything, maybe because she knew no one would understand her ways, her thoughts.. So she kept them to herself, locked in the dephts of her heart, with a key she shall never look for anymore, lost, intentionally. Lost, among herself.
The remarkable fact is, that she is also a wealthy person, but no wonder why all rich people look plastic: their unreadable minds keep their selfish and stupid thoughts surrounded by the extremities of the laws of society. You're not a someone if you don't follow those rules.
He sat, smoking, and looked at her over his shoulder, calling her, calmly. She took a deep breath so he wouldnt notice she was crying, and then started walking his way. "Stop right there." he said, without even moving his face an inch, and letting all the smoke out, letting the blackness of his lungs call his health. She stopped. "That's it" he continued. She sighed.