It was not that she was agitated.

Indeed, she was more at ease than she had been for days; she had after much anxious thought made up her mind to a definite course of action.
Therefore her sleeplessness was not painful.

It was rather that she did not want to sleep, than that she could not.

She lay still, thinking, thinking; dreaming such dreams as are the occasions of sanctified privacy to her age and sex.
In the morning she was no worse for her vigil.

When at luncheon-time Aunt Laetitia had returned she went into all the little matters of which she had to report.