A thousand things distracted her; the long ray of sunlight falling between the curtains, a rose that had dropped from its vase on to the mantelshelf, the title of a book lying on a table near; these and such foolish trifles.
She pushed back her chair in despair and, turning her head, caught sight of herself in the mirror behind the harpsichord.
She was astonished at her own extreme pallor; she told herself it must be the effect of the dead-white wrapper she wore.
With a little shiver she put aside pens and paper. She would write to Selina in the evening when she had seen my lord; there was still so much for her to say to him.
Again she glanced, almost guiltily, at the mirror; her ghastly appearance was no fancy.
The house was very quiet, surely it was time some of the servants were abroad; the clock pointed to close on six.
With a pang of surprise she heard her own heart beating furiously and felt the blood tingling in her head; she rose, expectant of something.
"Rose," she found herself saying, "Rose."
She thought he was coming, that any moment he would push open the door and greet her with his weary smile.