The sixth day she met at lunch a friend of hers and Belinda Rooke's.

She asked a question about the Rookes with averted eyes.
"Poor girl," said the friend; "she is in grief over Godfrey Langrishe.
He sails to-morrow." The rest of that luncheon-party was a phantasmagoria of faces and voices to poor Nelly.

He was going, and she would never see him again, although he had shown her by a thousand infallible signs that he loved her.
Despite his occasional coldness, she was sure he loved her.

Her pride was down with a vengeance.

She felt nothing at the moment but a desire to see him before he should go--just to see him, to see the lighting up of his gloomy eyes, as they had lit up on seeing her suddenly before he could get his face under control.