She was indifferent as to where they sent her, for she knew wherever she went she must still force herself to go on putting one hour on top of another, until she had built up the inexorable and necessary twenty-four.
When she returned winter was departing, but reluctantly, and returning unexpectedly to cover the world with snow, to eclipse the thin spring sunshine with cheerless clouds.

Helen took herself seriously to task.
She assured herself it was weak-minded to rebel.

The summer was coming and Fair Harbor with all its old delights was before her.

She compelled herself to take heart, to accept the fact that, after all, the world is a pretty good place, and that to think only of the past, to live only on memories and regrets, was not only cowardly and selfish, but, as Latimer had already decided, did not tend toward efficiency.
Among the other rules of conduct that she imposed upon herself was not to think of Latimer.

At least, not during the waking hours.