A feeling of intense lassitude and fatigue had succeeded to the unconscious excitement of the morning.

She could not read them now.

They must wait with the others.
Presently she could feel an interest in them; not now.
She leaned her head upon her hand, and a rush of pity swept away every other feeling as she recalled that last look at Stoke Moreton, and how Charles had turned so slowly and wearily to go in-doors.

There was an ache at her heart as she thought of him, a sense of regret and loss.

And he had loved her all the time! "If I had only known!" she said to herself, pressing her hands against her forehead.