But to-night she had been called a name by which she had never thought to be called; and already her honest heart was telling her she would never be called by it again.

And large silent tears overflowed and fell upon her hands and upon the lace at her breast.

For the wife and the mother in her had been wakened and stirred, and the deeps of her nature broke through the barriers of stern repression and almost masculine self-control, and refused to be driven back without the womanly tribute of tears.
And around her feet lay the scattered petals of crushed rambler roses.
* * * * * Presently she passed indoors.

The upper hall was filled with merry groups and resounded with "good-nights" as the women mounted the great staircase, pausing to fling back final repartees, or to confirm plans for the morrow.
Garth Dalmain was standing at the foot of the staircase, held in conversation by Pauline Lister and her aunt, who had turned on the fourth step.

Jane saw his slim, erect figure and glossy head the moment she entered the hall.