She did not seem to see clearly, whatever it might be she was looking at.

She shook out her work and straightened it, and folded it regularly, and looked at it as if the secret would pop out of the proper angle if she could only find it.
Then she creased it and crimped it--still she could not see.

Then she took a few stitches slowly, regarding fixedly a corner of the room as if the thought she was in search of was a mouse, and might at any moment run out of his hole and over the floor.
And after all the looking, she shook her head intelligently and fell quietly to work, as if the mystery were plain enough, saying to herself, "Why didn't I trust a girl's instinct who loves as Amy does?
Of course she is right.

Dear! dear! Of course he loves Hope Wayne.".