She and her aunt talked as usual over all the small affairs of the house and the neighbourhood, and the calm restraint was in itself soothing.

Even then she could not help feeling how much convention is to a woman's life.

Had it not been for these recurring trials of set hours and duties she could never have passed the last day and night without discovery of her condition of mind.
That one terrible, hysterical outburst was perhaps the safety valve.

Had it been spread over the time occupied in conventional duties its force even then might have betrayed her; but without the necessity of nerving herself to conventional needs, she would have infallibly betrayed herself by her negative condition.
After lunch she went to her own boudoir where, when she had shut the inner door, no one was allowed to disturb her without some special need in the house or on the arrival of visitors.

This 'sporting oak' was the sign of 'not at home' which she had learned in her glimpse of college life.