It had carried her out of herself, preventing her from dwelling continually upon the past.

Unfortunately, however, the hours she spent in the seclusion of the West Parlour were not allowed to pass without comment.
"It seems to take you a long time to compose a new piece," remarked Isobel at dinner one day, the trite expression "new piece" very evidently culled from her school-day memories.
Nan smiled across at her.
"A concerto's a pretty big undertaking, you see," she explained.
"Rather an unnecessary one, I should have thought, as you are so soon to be married." Lady Gertrude spoke with her usual acid brevity.

"It certainly prevents our enjoying as much of your society as we should wish." Nan flushed scarlet at the implied slur on her behaviour as a guest in the house, even though she recognised the injustice of it.

An awkward pause ensued.

Isobel, having started the ball rolling, seemed content to let things take their course without interference, while Roger's shaggy brows drew together in a heavy frown--though whether he were displeased by his mother's comment, or by Nan's having given her cause for it, it was impossible to say.
"This afternoon, for instance," pursued Lady Gertrude, "Isobel and I paid several calls in the neighbourhood, and in each case your absence was a disappointment to our friends--very naturally." "I--I'm sorry," stammered Nan.