But her white forehead was broad under its soft-hanging eaves of hair, and her chin, though lacking in prognathous prominence or bull-dog breadth, had a certain depth which gave hope to the physiognomist.
She was strangely roused and stirred by the afternoon's events.

"I'm like that man in 'Phantastes'," she thought contemptuously, "who stayed so long in that dungeon because it didn't occur to him to open the door! Why don't I-- ?" she rose and walked slowly up and down, her hands behind her.

"I will!" she said at last.
Then she dressed for dinner, revolving in her mind certain suspicions long suppressed, but now flaming out in clear conviction in the light of Diantha's words.

"Sleeping in, indeed!" she murmured to herself.

"And nobody doing anything!" She looked herself in the eye in the long mirror.