She drew the curtain, but it seemed thin, and with characteristic impulsiveness she put out her light that she might have the friendly drapery of darkness about her.

She heard the soft--for the first time it seemed to her stealthy--tread of Humphreys, as he returned to his room.

Whether she swooned or whether she slept after that she never knew.

It was morning without any time intervening, she had a headache and could scarcely walk, and there was August's note lying on the floor.

She read it again--if not with more intelligence, at least with more suspicion.
She wondered at her own hastiness.