Something stronger than herself--that vein of iron in her soul--would not bend, would not break though every fibre of her being struggled against it.

All the happiness of her life vanished with George as he passed beyond the yew tree at the corner, yet she sat there with her hands still folded, her lips still firm, watching the tree long after its pointed dusk had hidden her lover's figure.

Had she followed her desire as lightly as George followed his, she would have run after him as he disappeared, and bringing him back to the room he had left, dissolved in tears on his breast.

She longed to do this, but the vein of iron held her firm in spite of herself.

She could not move toward him, she could not even have put out her hand had he entered.
The bell rang, and her blood drummed in her ears; but it was only Cousin Jimmy bringing Mrs.Carr back from the cemetery.