She drew the clothes over her head.  Lydia could hear her still laughing, and wondered.  Thyrza could not have told what it was that amused her.

She did not sleep again, but had breakfast in bed.  Lydia sat with her as long as possible.  Thyrza, as soon as she heard the front door close behind her sister, sprang on to the floor and began to dress with nervous rapidity; her hands were so unsteady that she had all sorts of difficulties with buttons and hooks and eyes.

‘Don’t trouble with your hair,’ Lydia had said.  ’I’ll do it at dinner-time.’

But Thyrza could not obey in this.  She did the plaiting twice over, being dissatisfied with the first result, and even took a new piece of blue ribbon for the ends.

The sun was shining.  That always affected her pleasurably, and this morning, as soon as she was dressed, a gladness altogether without conscious reason made her sing, again the song of the concert.  The air, which she could not wholly remember the night before, had grown to completeness in her mind; she longed to know the words, that the whole song might henceforth stay with her.  And the sun, so rare in our dull skies, seemed to warm the opposite houses.  She threw open the window, and heard the clocks striking nine.

’I’ll just make the bed and put things straight, then—­oh, then I must really go and do something for Mrs. Grail.  I left her alone nearly all yesterday.  And then I might go and meet Lyddy.  But it’s a long time till half-past twelve.  Perhaps—­’

Having made the bed she sat down to rest for a moment.  After all, the headache was certainly not gone, though it had been disguising itself.  The moment grew to a quarter of an hour.  Her eyes seemed to behold something very clearly, just in front, down there on the floor.  But the floor itself had made way for a large hall; among rows of people she saw a tall lady in a red cloak, and a bald-headed gentleman, and between them someone whose face was at an angle which allowed her to see it very well, to note even the look, not quite a smile, of pleasure which made it so interesting.  She knew no other face which affected her as that did.  She desired it to turn full upon her, to look straight into hers with its clear, gentle eyes, which seemed to be so full of wonderful knowledge.  Once or twice, yes, in truth, once or twice it had done so, but never for long enough.  It would do so yet again.  Oh but not for long enough!  A look not of instants, but of minutes, of full minutes ticked to their last second; what would she give for that!  One such gaze and she would be satisfied.  It was not to ask much, surely not much.

But she was going to live there, behind the library, and he would come often, very often.  For a time he would certainly come every day.  To be sure, she could not see him daily.  Her duties would be in the house; she would be a wife; people would call her ‘Mrs. Grail.’