She felt herself unable to write in the way he did, had she wished to.

Besides, there was that feminine feeling still lurking in her heart, which said, "Do not trust him till he comes back." It seemed to her it must be so easy to write like that--and yet, she had not thought so at the first reading.
But she loved him, not yet as she would some day, but still she loved, and it was her first love, as it was his.
She had settled herself in the hotel for the present, and to make it more like home--like her pretty home at Baden--she had ordered a few plants and growing flowers, very simple and inexpensive, for she felt herself terribly pinched, although she had not yet begun actually to feel the restrictions laid on her by her financial troubles.

When Barker was gone, she amused herself with picking off the dried leaves and brushing away the little cobwebs and spiders that always accumulate about growing things.

In the midst of this occupation she made up her mind, and rang the bell.
"Vladimir, I am not at home," she said solemnly, and the gray-haired, gray-whiskered functionary bowed in acknowledgment of the fact, which was far from evident.

When he was gone she sat down to her desk and wrote to Dr.Claudius.She wrote rapidly in her large hand, and before long she had covered four pages of notepaper.