Even then she looked about her in a dazed way, as if she feared some one had been probing her heart--hanging back till the others had showered their congratulations on the reader.

Then leaning forward she placed her hands in Richard's as if to steady herself, and with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her nature bent her head and kissed him softly on the cheek.
When the eggnog was being served and the guests were broken up into knots and groups, all discussing the beauty of the reading, she suddenly left Willits, who had followed her every move as if he had a prior right to her person, and going up to St.George, led him out of the room to one of the sofas in Richard's study, her lips quivering, the undried tears still trembling on her eyelids.

She did not release his hand as they took their seats.

Her fingers closed only the tighter, as if she feared he would slip from her grasp.
"It was all so beautiful and so terrible, Uncle George," she moaned at last--"and all so true.

Such awful mistakes are made and then it is too late.