She had been regretting the wane of a pleasant evening, but she had thought there was a half-hour more.

Oh, the half-hours, the minutes of the world; what miseries and griefs are crowded into them! She said good-bye with feigned indifference.

What matter could it make?
Still, the coach seemed lorn.
When she went into her own flat she had this to think about.

She did not know whether she would ever see this man any more.

What difference could it make--what difference could it make?
Hurstwood had returned, and was already in bed.