Her aim was to reach the library.
She sat on the stairs midway, pondering over the length of her journey: and now her head was clearer; for she was travelling to get Railway-guides, and might have had them from the hands of a footman, and imagined that she had considered it prudent to hide her investigation of those books: proofs of an understanding fallen backward to the state of infant and having to begin our drear ascent again.
A slam of the kitchen stair-door restored her.

She betrayed no infirmity of footing as she walked past Arlington in the hall; and she was alive to the voice of Skepsey presently on the door-steps.

Arlington brought her a note.
Victor had written: 'My love, I dine with Blathenoy in the City, at the Walworth.Business.Skepsey for clothes.

Eight of us.Formal.A thousand embraces.

Late.' Skepsey was ushered in.