She had no idea of hiding her happiness from this chosen friend, and waited eagerly for the moment in which she could put her arms round Diana's neck and tell her what it was that had made Newhall so sweet to her during this particular visit.
She sat in the window this morning thinking of Valentine, and languishing to speak of him, but at a loss how to begin.

There are some people about whose necks the arms of affection can scarce entwine themselves.

Diana Paget sat at her eternal embroidery-frame, picking up beads on her needle with the precision of some self-feeding machine.
The little glass beads made a hard clicking sound as they dropped from her needle,--a very frosty, unpromising sound, as it seemed to Charlotte's hyper-sensitive ear.
There had been an unwonted reserve between the girls since Charlotte's return,--a reserve which arose, on Miss Halliday's part, from the contest between girlish shyness and the eager desire for a confidante; and on the part of Miss Paget, from that gloomy discontent which had of late possessed her.
She watched Charlotte furtively as she picked up her beads--watched her wonderingly, unable to comprehend the happiness that gave such spiritual brightness to her eyes.

It was no longer the childlike gaiety of heart which had made Miss Halliday's girlhood so pleasant.

It was the thoughtful, serene delight of womanhood.
"She can care very little for Valentine," Diana thought, "or she could scarcely seem so happy after such a long separation.