Presently there seemed a movement in the scene, the figures around her streaming away, but always his voice in her ears saying she knew not what except her name. And after a while she found herself standing outside the rectory under a great blue vault of sky all tingling with stars. To her excited fancy they seemed to project out of the dark blueness above, as if to take part in this scene.
‘We are going to walk home,’ said Mrs. Hayward, ‘it is such a lovely night, and only a little way.’
‘And I’m going with you,’ said Captain Bellendean. ‘Yes, Colonel, I have plenty of time for the train.’
‘Well, perhaps yes,—enough, but not too much,—but we all go the same way.’
Something like this came to Joyce through the keen night air: and while the voices were still ringing, her arm was within his, and they were walking together as if it had been a dream.
‘Joyce: I don’t know if you hear me or not, but you make me no reply.’
Then all at once she seemed to come to herself and to consciousness of all around her: the hard dry road which rang underfoot, the great vibrating stars above, intense with frost, with human interest (was it possible?), with something which had never been in them before. She was warmly cloaked and wrapped up, a fleecy scarf over her head, her arm held closely in his, his face bending towards her. It seemed to be her first moment of full consciousness since that time when all the ladies were gathering round her looking at the miniature on her breast.
‘Captain Bellendean, it is all very strange to me. I don’t understand what is happening,’ she said.
‘I thought it was so: the noise and the chatter of these people, and the agitation—for you were agitated, Joyce.’
‘I did not expect to see you. I was surprised to see you.’