The world had changed, and I with it, since the fall of twilight in the gallery.
Rachel sang and the room applauded; people danced and Rachel amongst them; young gentlemen were introduced to me, and I told them "I don't dance" with my cold lips.

There was an agonising pressure on my senses, of sound, light, perfume.

I thought it was these things that gave the pain, while from my heart, which seemed perfectly still, came forth at intervals the repetition "I will get over it, I will get over it." John found me out, and said, quite startled, "What is the matter with you, Margery ?" I complained of "my head," and drew back within the shelter of a curtain.

"Margery, my dearest, you are ill," he said, and then the flood-gates of bitterness opened in my heart.

How long was he going to act a cruel lie to me?
I said, "I am ill; I must go to bed." He followed me out of the room, questioned me anxiously, wrapped me in a shawl, stood at the foot of the stairs watching till I passed out of sight; all as if he had still loved me.
When I reached my room I blew out my candles, and the fireplace was the only spot of light in the large shadowy room.