After tea, Miss Felicia having vanished on some affair of her
own--Damaris asked no question, but supposed it not unconnected with the
now, since Sir Charles was about to return, permanently exiled
Theresa--our maiden went upstairs, in the tender evening light, on
domestic cares intent. She wished to assure herself that the chintz
bedroom, opening off the main landing and overlooking the lawn and front
garden, had been duly made ready for Colonel Carteret. She took a
somewhat wistful pleasure in silently ministering to his possible small
needs in the matter of sufficient wealth of towels, candles and soap. She
lengthened out the process. Lingered, rearranged the ornaments upon the
mantelpiece, the bunch of sweet-leafed geranium--as yet unshrivelled by
frost--and belated roses, placed in a vase upon the toilet-table.
In so doing she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and paused,
studying it. Her looks were not at their best. She was wan.--That might,
in part, be owing to the waning light.
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