She repented of her bitterness.
Katharine now renewed her signs of leave-taking; she had drawn on one of her gloves, and looked about her as if in search of some trivial saying to end with.

Wasn't there some picture, or clock, or chest of drawers which might be singled out for notice?
something peaceable and friendly to end the uncomfortable interview?
The green-shaded lamp burnt in the corner, and illumined books and pens and blotting-paper.

The whole aspect of the place started another train of thought and struck her as enviably free; in such a room one could work--one could have a life of one's own.
"I think you're very lucky," she observed.

"I envy you, living alone and having your own things"-- and engaged in this exalted way, which had no recognition or engagement-ring, she added in her own mind.
Mary's lips parted slightly.

She could not conceive in what respects Katharine, who spoke sincerely, could envy her.
"I don't think you've got any reason to envy me," she said.
"Perhaps one always envies other people," Katharine observed vaguely.
"Well, but you've got everything that any one can want." Katharine remained silent.