But she felt intensely, and this was not the first time she had felt the contrast thrust into her feeling between the upper and the lower conditions of human life.

It had been growing upon her until it had made her what Rose called "queer," and other people in her circle of wealthy acquaintances called very unusual.

It was simply the human problem in its extreme of riches and poverty, its refinement and its vileness, that was, in spite of her unconscious attempts to struggle against the facts, burning into her life the impression that would in the end either transform her into a woman of rare love and self-sacrifice for the world, or a miserable enigma to herself and all who knew her.
"Come, Felicia, aren't you going home ?" said Rose.

The play was over, the curtain down, and people were going noisily out, laughing and gossiping as if "The Shadows of London" were simply good diversion, as they were, put on the stage so effectively.
Felicia rose and went out with the rest quietly, and with the absorbed feeling that had actually left her in her seat oblivious of the play's ending.

She was never absent-minded, but often thought herself into a condition that left her alone in the midst of a crowd.
"Well, what did you think of it ?" asked Rose when the sisters had reached home and were in the drawing-room.