"Yes, father," she answered.
Her little room, when at last she was safely in it and had shut the door and put a chair against it—she had no key—seemed somehow changed.
She lit the lamp and stood looking at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were star-bright. Her cheeks flamed softly. Her mouth looked guilty and yet glad.
She put the light out and went to the window, kneeling there, leaning out in the fragrant stillness, trying to arrange in her mind this mixture of grief, disapproval, shame and triumph.
When the Episcopal church clock struck eleven, she went to bed in guilty haste, but not to sleep.
For a long time she lay there watching the changing play of moonlight on the floor.
She felt almost as if she were married.