He got up. He stared out of the window, not seeing anything.
"I didn't mean what I said about Mamma. Morfe makes you say things.
Soon it'll make you mean them. You wait."
She was glad when he had left her.
The cliffs of Greffington Edge were violet now.
II.
At night, when she lay in bed in the strange room, the Essex fields began to haunt her; the five trees, the little flying trees, low down, low down; the straight, narrow paths through the corn, where she walked with Mark, with Jimmy, with Mr. Jourdain; Mr. Jourdain, standing in the path and saying: "Talk to me. I'm alive. I'm here. I'll listen."
Mark and Mamma planting the sumach tree by the front door; Papa saying it wouldn't grow. It had grown up to the dining-room window-sill.
Aunt Bella and Uncle Edward; the Proparts and the Farmers and Mr. Batty, all stiff and disapproving; not nearly so nice to you as they used to be and making you believe it was your fault.
The old, beautiful drawing-room. The piano by the door.
Dan staggering down the room at Mark's party. Mark holding her there, in his arms.