The door closed.
Had Dahlia's misery been in any degree simulated, her eyes now, as well as her ears, would have taken positive assurance of his departure.
But with the removal of her handkerchief, the loathsome sight of the dinner-table would have saluted her, and it had already caused her suffering enough.

She chose to remain as she was, saying to herself, "I am dead;" and softly revelling in that corpse-like sentiment.

She scarcely knew that the door had opened again.
"Dahlia!" She heard her name pronounced, and more entreatingly, and closer to her.
"Dahlia, my poor girl!" Her hand was pressed.

It gave her no shudders.
"I am dead," she mentally repeated, for the touch did not run up to her heart and stir it.
"Dahlia, do be reasonable! I can't leave you like this.

We shall be separated for some time.