They did not fall.

She was not lacking in self-control, and she told herself that of late she had wept too often.

She sat very still, her head bowed upon her listless arm, while the moments passed, bearing with them pictures seen through unshed tears.

She was living over the days of the Three-Notched Road, and she beheld each shifting scene by the light of a passion that she believed to be unreasonable, unnatural, secret, and without hope.

Her uncle's voice came to her from the hall below.
"Jacqueline, Jacqueline!" She arose, bathed her eyes, and went downstairs.
It was the custom of the family to gather after supper upon the great white pillared porch, and to sit through the twilight.