If she were in any way anemic I could understand it, but she is not.

She is in gay spirits and full of life and cheerfulness.

All the morbid reticence seems to have passed from her, and she has just reminded me, as if I needed any reminding, of that night, and that it was here, on this very seat, I found her asleep.
As she told me she tapped playfully with the heel of her boot on the stone slab and said, "My poor little feet didn't make much noise then! I daresay poor old Mr.Swales would have told me that it was because I didn't want to wake up Geordie." As she was in such a communicative humour, I asked her if she had dreamed at all that night.
Before she answered, that sweet, puckered look came into her forehead, which Arthur, I call him Arthur from her habit, says he loves, and indeed, I don't wonder that he does.

Then she went on in a half-dreaming kind of way, as if trying to recall it to herself.
"I didn't quite dream, but it all seemed to be real.

I only wanted to be here in this spot.