She had seen him.

They had met.

They had been once more in the same room.
Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling less.

Eight years, almost eight years had passed, since all had been given up.

How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval had banished into distance and indistinctness! What might not eight years do?
Events of every description, changes, alienations, removals--all, all must be comprised in it, and oblivion of the past-- how natural, how certain too! It included nearly a third part of her own life.
Alas! with all her reasoning, she found, that to retentive feelings eight years may be little more than nothing.
Now, how were his sentiments to be read?
Was this like wishing to avoid her?
And the next moment she was hating herself for the folly which asked the question.
On one other question which perhaps her utmost wisdom might not have prevented, she was soon spared all suspense; for, after the Miss Musgroves had returned and finished their visit at the Cottage she had this spontaneous information from Mary:-- "Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne, though he was so attentive to me.