It was as if a life-long habit struck as well as the clock, and decided his times for him.
"I must be going," said he, speaking against the bell notes.

Sylvia arose without a word of dissent, but Richard spoke as if she had remonstrated.
"I'll come again next Sunday night," said he, apologetically.
Sylvia followed him to the door.

They bade each other good-night decorously, with never a parting kiss, as they had done for years.
Richard went out of sight down the white gleaming road, and she went in and to bed, with her heart in a great tumult of expectation and joyful fear.
She had tried to wait calmly for Sunday night.

She had done her neat household tasks as usual, her face and outward demeanor were sweetly unruffled, but her thoughts seemed shivering with rainbows that constantly dazzled her with sweet shocks when her eyes met them.

Her feet seemed constantly flying before her into the future, and she could scarcely tell where she might really be, in the present or in her dreams, which had suddenly grown so real.
On Sunday morning she had curled her soft fair hair, and arranged with trepidation one long light curl outside her bonnet on each side of her face.