Her husband let her see but little of the friends who were fond of her.

She began to suspect that her conscience did not reproach her because she had merely acted on her natural right to love and be loved.

This conclusion brought her mind again to the consideration of Antony Grey, and again she let her thoughts dwell on him.
The gong, informing her that it was time to dress for dinner, interrupted this pleasant occupation.

She had her bath, put herself into the hands of her maid, Elizabeth Twitcher, and resumed her meditation.

She was at once so deeply absorbed in it that she did not observe her maid's sullen and depressed air.
She was presently interrupted again, and in a manner far more violent and startling than the summons of the gong.