She
had read no modern fiction; she knew nothing about psychology: she
was absolutely happy . . .
And then in that very first day she discovered that life was not
quite so simple. In the first place, she wanted Martin desperately
and he did not come; and although she had at once a thousand
sensible reasons for the impossibility of his coming, nevertheless
strange new troubles and suspicions that she had never known before
rose in her heart. She had only kissed him once; he had only held
her in his arms for a few moments . . .She waited, looking from
behind the drawing-room curtains out into the street. How could he
let the whole day go by? He was prevented, perhaps, by that horrible
sister of his. When the dusk came and the muffin-man went ringing
his bell down the street she felt exhausted as though she had been
running for miles . . .
Then with sudden guilty realisation of the absorption that had held
her all day she wondered how much her aunt had noticed.
During the afternoon when she had been watching the streets from
behind the curtain Aunt Elizabeth had sat sewing, Thomas the cat
lumped before the fire, the whole room bathed in afternoon silence.
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