. .But
meanwhile it hurt. She was now twice as lonely as she had been
before because she did not know what he intended to do, and always
with her now there was something strange and unknown that might at
any moment be stronger than she.
But by next morning she had conquered herself. She would see him at
Chapel that night and perhaps have a word with him, and so already
she had arrived at her now lover's calendar of dates and seasons.
There was the time before she would see him and the time after--no
other time than that.
The trouble that weighed upon her most heavily was her deceitfulness
to the aunts. Fifty times that day she was on the edge of speaking
and telling them all, but she was held back by the vagueness of her
relations to Martin. Were they engaged? Did he even love her? He had
only kissed her. He had said nothing. No, she must wait, but with
this definite sense of her wickedness weighing upon her--not
wickedness to herself, for that she cared nothing, but wickedness to
them--she tried, on this day, to be a pattern member of the
household, going softly everywhere that she was told, closing doors
behind her, being punctual and careful.
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