She sat quite still, staring straight in front of her.  Strange that in this place she did not want to pray.  She who had prayed so constantly at home didn’t seem able to do it here at all.  The first morning she had merely thrown up a brief thank you to heaven on getting out of bed, and had gone straight to the window to see what everything looked like—­thrown up the thank you as carelessly as a ball, and though no more about it.  That morning, remembering this and ashamed, she had knelt down with determination; but perhaps determination was bad for prayers, for she had been unable to think of a thing to say.  And as for her bedtime prayers, on neither of the nights had she said a single one.  She had forgotten them.  She had been so much absorbed in other thoughts that she had forgotten them; and, once in bed, she was asleep and whirling along among bright, thin swift dreams before she had so much time as to stretch herself out.

What had come over her?  Why had she let go the anchor of prayer?  And she had difficulty, too, in remembering her poor, in remembering even that there were such things as poor.  Holidays, of course, were good, and were recognized by everybody as good, but ought they so completely to blot out, to make such havoc of, the realities?  Perhaps it was healthy to forget her poor; with all the greater gusto would she go back to them.  But it couldn’t be healthy to forget her prayers, and still less could it be healthy not to mind.

Rose did not mind.  She knew she did not mind.  And, even worse, she knew she did not mind not minding.  In this place she was indifferent to both the things that had filled her life and made it seem as if it were happy for years.  Well, if only she could rejoice in her wonderful new surroundings, have that much at least to set against the indifference, the letting go—­but she could not.  She had no work; she did not pray; she was left empty.

Lotty had spoilt her day that day, as she had spoilt her day the day before—­Lotty, with her invitation to her husband, with her suggestion that she too should invite hers.  Having flung Frederick into her mind again the day before, Lotty had left her; for the whole afternoon she had left her alone with her thoughts.  Since then they had been all of Frederick.  Where at Hampstead he came to her only in her dreams, here he left her dreams free and was with her during the day instead.  And again that morning, as she was struggling not to think of him, Lotty had asked her, just before disappearing singing down the path, if she had written yet and invited him, and again he was flung into her mind and she wasn’t able to get him out.