She had been able to imagine herself almost happy with Rose and the new passion for her which had come into her life, but that passion was overgrown by her secret, like some hideous parasite.

Even the girl's face, which was so beloved, was not to be seen without a pang to follow upon the happiness.

Sylvia showed, however, in spite of her face of utter despair, an odd strength, a courage as if for battle.
After awhile she heard Henry's returning footsteps, and immediately her face and whole body relaxed.

She became flesh, and took up her needlework, and Henry found her sewing placidly.

The change had been marvellous.