That passionate yearning for the past possessed her so strongly.

She could remember nothing except that she had been with him.

She had seen his face, she had heard his voice; and now how long and weary the time might be before she could again see that one beloved face or hear the dear familiar voice! The brightest hope she had in these midsummer holidays was the hope of a letter from him; and even that might be the prelude of disappointment.

She wrestled with herself, and tried to exorcise those ghosts of memory which haunted her by day and wove themselves into her dreams by night; but they were not to be laid at rest.

She hated her folly; but her folly was stronger than herself.
For three weeks Diana Paget had no companions but her sorrowful memories--her haunting shadows; but at the end of that time the stagnant mill-pond of her life was suddenly ruffled--the dull course of existence was disturbed by the arrival of two letters.