She looked at it long, with mute and critical appreciation.

She swept with her eyes the line of violet shadows from the mountain-tops to the sea-board, where the pale lights of Bordighera still flickered.

She looked up again from the dark blue sea to the paling stars.

It was all wonderful--theatrical, perhaps, but wonderful--and how she hated it! She stood up before the window and with her clenched fists she beat against the sills.

Those long days and feverish nights through which she had passed slowly unfolded themselves.
In those few moments she seemed to taste again the dull pain of constant disappointment, the hectic thrills of occasional winnings, the strange, dull inertia which had taken the place of resignation.