rself calmly awaiting the inevitable moment
when the full extent of the catastrophe would burst upon her. For the
moment she was merely tired. She was willing even to put off this
reaction for a while, willing to remain passive and dizzied and
stupefied, resigning herself helplessly and supinely to the swift
current of events.

Yet while that part of her mind which registered the greater, deeper,
and more lasting impressions remained inactive, the smaller faculty,
that took cognisance of the little, minute-to-minute matters, was as
busy and bright as ever. It appeared that the blow had been struck over
this latter faculty, and not, as one so often supposes, through it. She
seemed in that hour to understand the reasonableness of this phenomenon,
that before had always appeared so inexplicable, and saw how great
sorrow as well as great joy strikes only at the greater machinery of the
brain, overpassing and ignoring the little wheels and cogs, that work on
as briskly as ever in storm or calm, being moved only by temporary and
trivial emotions and impressions.

So it was that for upward of an hour while the train carried her swiftly
back to the City, Lloyd sat quietly in her place, watching the landscape
rushing past her and cut into regular divisions by the telegraph poles
like the whirling pictures of a kinetoscope. She noted, and even with
some particularity, the other passengers--a young girl in a smart
tailor-made gown reading a book, cutting the leaves raggedly with a
hairpin; a well-groomed gentleman with a large stomach, who breathed
loudly through his nose; the book agent with his oval boxes of dried
figs and endless thread of talk; a woman with a little boy who wore
spectacles and who was continually making unsteady raids upon the
water-cooler, and the brakeman and train conductor laughing and chatting
in the forward seat.

She took an interest in every unusual feature of the country through
which the train was speeding, and noted each stop or increase of speed.
She found a certain diversion, as she had often done before, in watching
for the mile-posts and in keeping count of the miles. She even asked the
conductor at what time the train would reach the City, and uttered a
little murmur of vexation when she was told that it was a half-hour
late. The next instant she was asking herself why this delay should seem
annoying to her. Then, toward the close of the afternoon, came the City
itself. First a dull-gray smu