We are all in good spirits--everything ought to go well--and I will write the first moment possible.
'GEORGE.' She seemed to see him, tearing the leaf from the little block she had given him, and standing in the trench, so slim and straight in his khaki.

And then, what happened after?
when the rush came?
Would she never know?
If he never came back to her, what was she going to do with her life?
Waves of lonely terror went through her--terror of the long sorrow before her--terror of her own weakness.
And then again--reaction.

She sat up in bed, angrily wrestling with her own lapse from hope.

Of course it was all coming right! She turned on the light, with a small trembling hand, and tried to read a newspaper Bridget had brought in.

But the words swam before her; the paper dropped from her grasp; and when Bridget came back, her face was hidden, she seemed to be asleep.
* * * * * 'Is this it ?' said Nelly, looking in alarm at the new and splendid house before which the taxi had drawn up.
'Well, it's the right number!' And Bridget, rather flurried, looked at the piece of paper on which Farrell had written the address for her, the night before.
She jumped out of the taxi and ran up some marble steps towards a glass door covered with a lattice metal-work, beyond which a hall, a marble staircase and a lift shewed dimly.