But she arrested them and covered them with her hands.
"This is my last chance," she said to herself aloud in the anguish of her spirit.

If it failed, there was nothing in front of her but a loneliness which each year must augment.

Youth and high spirits or the assumption of high spirits--these she must have if she were to keep her place in her poor little circle--and both were slipping from her fast.
"This is my last chance." She stood in front of her mirror in her dancing frock, her dark hair exquisitely dressed, her face hauntingly wistful.

After all, she was beautiful.

Why shouldn't she win?
Jenny thought that she could.
At that moment Jenny was slipping noiselessly along a corridor to the northern side of the house.