Everywhere she
seemed to find hint and suggestion of this--no, she wouldn't too
distinctly define it. Let it remain nameless.--Everywhere, except in
respect of her father and of her brother. There she could spend her heart
in peace. She sighed with a sweetness of relief, unclasping her hands,
raising her fixed, bowed head.

The hotel, meanwhile, was sensibly in act of coming awake. Doors opened,
voices called. From the other side of the corridor sounded poor little
Mrs. Titherage's hacking cough, increasing to a convulsive struggle
before, the fit at last passing off, it sunk into temporary quiescence.
Andre, the stout, middle-aged _valet de chambre_, hummed snatches of gay
melody as he rubbed and polished the parquet flooring without. These
noises, whether cheerful or the contrary, were at least ordinary enough.
By degrees they gained Damaris' ear, drawing her mind from speculation
regarding the nature, origin, prevalence and ethics of love. Soon
Pauline, the chamber-maid, would bring her breakfast-tray, coffee and
rolls, those pale wafer-like pats of butter which taste so good, and thin
squares of beetroot sugar which are never half as sweet as one would
like. Would bring hot water and her bath, too, and pay her some nicely
turned little compliment as to the becoming effect of her night's
sleep.--Everything would pick itself up, in short, and go on, naturally
and comfortably just as before.

Before what?

Damaris straightened the hem of the sheet over the billowing edge of
flowered down quilt; and, while so doing, her hand came in contact both
with the mirror and the open jewel-case. She looked at this last with an
expression bordering on reproach, unfastened the pearls from her throat,
and laid them on the wadded, cream-coloured velvet lining. She delighted
to possess them and deplored possessing them in the same breath. They
spoke to her too freely and conclusively, told her too much. She would
rather not have acquired this knowledge either of Carteret or of
herself.--If it really were knowledge?--Again she repeated the question,
arising from the increasing normality of surrounding things--Before what?

For when all was said and done, the dear man with the blue eyes had
veritably and very really departed. Throughout the night his train had
been rushing north-north-westward to Paris, to England, to that Norfolk
manor-house of his, where his sister, his nephews, all his home
interests and occupations awaited him.