She would know the hand again any time.

It was as handsome and as everything else as the woman herself.
The woman herself had, on learning his flight, pushed past Everard's servant and into his room; she had written her missive at his table and with his pen.

All this, every inch of it, came in the waft that she blew through and left behind her, the influence that, as I have said, lingered.

And among the things the girl was sure of, happily, was that she should see her again..