She rose at early hours that she might have the garden to herself in all its freshness; she loved to look from her window into the calm depth of the summer midnight.

In this way she brought into consciousness the craving of her soul, made the pursuit of beauty a religion, grew to welcome the perception of new meaning in beautiful things with a spiritual delight.

This was the secret of her life, which she guarded so jealously, which she feared even by chance to betray in the phrasings of common intercourse.

Wilfrid had divined it, and it was the secret influence of this sympathy that had led her to such unwonted frankness in their latest conversation.
Mrs.Rossall had spoken to her of Beatrice Redwing's delightful singing, and had asked her to come to the drawing-room during the evening; having declined the afternoon's drive, Emily did not feel able to neglect this other invitation.

The day had become sultry towards its close; when she joined the company about nine o'clock, she found Beatrice with Mrs.
Rossall sitting in the dusk by the open French windows, Mr.Athel in a chair just outside, and Wilfrid standing by him, the latter pair smoking.