She met it with a blithe wave of her handkerchief, and Mary waved vigorously in response.

It was a long time before she turned away from the window.

When she did she had nearly recovered her self-control, and grateful for Betty's considerate silence, she busied herself with her suit-case a few minutes, fumbling with the lock, and making a pretence of repacking, in order to find room for the book that Phil had brought.
The night before, in the first numb apathy of the shock, it had seemed to her that nothing mattered any more.

Nothing could make the dreadful state of affairs more bearable; but now she acknowledged to herself that some things did help.

How wonderfully comforting Phil's assurance of sympathy had been; the silent assurance of that firm, tender hand-clasp.
It was easier to be brave since he had called her so and expected it of her.
Betty, in a seat across the aisle, opened a magazine, but Mary could not settle down to read.