She had, indeed, passed through a sharp agony--an agony sharp almost to death; but the agony had been short, and the price was in her hand.
A close carriage had met her at the station, and taken her with her maid to the house.

She had so arranged that she had reached the station after dark, and even then had felt that the eyes of many were upon her as she went out to her carriage, with her face covered by a veil.

She was all alone, and there would be no one at the house to whom she could speak; but the knowledge that the carriage was her own perhaps consoled her.
The housekeeper who received her was a stout, elderly, comfortable body, to whom she could perhaps say a few words beyond those which might be spoken to an ordinary servant; but she fancied at once that the housekeeper was cold to her, and solemn in her demeanor.
"I hope you have good fires, Mrs.Button." "Yes, my lady." "I think I will have some tea; I don't want anything else to-night." "Very well, my lady." Mrs.Button, maintaining a solemn countenance, would not go beyond this; and yet Mrs.Button looked like a woman who could have enjoyed a gossip, had the lady been a lady to her mind.

Perhaps Mrs.Button did not like serving a lady as to whom such sad stories were told.

Lady Ongar, as she thought of this, drew herself up unconsciously, and sent Mrs.Button away from her.
The next morning, after an early breakfast, Lady Ongar went out.