s she heard the front door close
behind her sister, sprang on to the floor and began to dress with
nervous rapidity; her hands were so unsteady that she had all sorts of
difficulties with buttons and hooks and eyes.

'Don't trouble with your hair,' Lydia had said. 'I'll do it at
dinner-time.'

But Thyrza could not obey in this. She did the plaiting twice over,
being dissatisfied with the first result, and even took a new piece of
blue ribbon for the ends.

The sun was shining. That always affected her pleasurably, and this
morning, as soon as she was dressed, a gladness altogether without
conscious reason made her sing, again the song of the concert. The air,
which she could not wholly remember the night before, had grown to
completeness in her mind; she longed to know the words, that the whole
song might henceforth stay with her. And the sun, so rare in our dull
skies, seemed to warm the opposite houses. She threw open the window,
and heard the clocks striking nine.

'I'll just make the bed and put things straight, then--oh, then I must
really go and do something for Mrs. Grail. I left her alone nearly all
yesterday. And then I might go and meet Lyddy. But it's a long time
till half-past twelve. Perhaps--'

Having made the bed she sat down to rest for a moment. After all, the
headache was certainly not gone, though it had been disguising itself.
The moment grew to a quarter of an hour. Her eyes seemed to behold
something very clearly, just in front, down there on the floor. But the
floor itself had made way for a large hall; among rows of people she
saw a tall lady in a red cloak, and a bald-headed gentleman, and
between them someone whose face was at an angle which allowed her to
see it very well, to note even the look, not quite a smile, of pleasure
which made it so interesting. She knew no other face which affected her
as that did. She desired it to turn full upon her, to look straight
into hers with its clear, gentle eyes, which seemed to be so full of
wonderful knowledge. Once or twice, yes, in truth, once or twice it had
done so, but never for long enough. It would do so yet again. Oh but
not for long enough! A look not of instants, but of minutes, of full
minutes ticked to their last second; what would she give for that! One
such gaze and she would be satisfied. It was not to ask much, surely
not much.

But she was going to live there, behind the library, and he would come
often, very often. For a time h