And now fear crept in--fear that he had forgotten, had changed. Else how
could he have spoken so? . . . And the tempered restraint of her
quivered at the thought--all the serenity, the confidence in life and in
him began to waver. And her first doubt crept in upon her.
She turned her expressionless face from him and, resting her cheek
against the velvet back of the chair, looked out into the late afternoon
sunshine.
All the long autumn without him, all her long, lonely, leisure hours in
the golden weather, his silence, his withdrawal into himself, and his
work, hitherto she had not misconstrued, though often she confused
herself in explaining it. Impatience of his absence, too, had stimulated
her to understand the temporary state of things--to know that time away
from him meant for her only existence in suspense.
Very, very slowly, by degrees imperceptible, alone with memories of him
and of their summer's happiness already behind her, she had learned that
time added things to what she had once considered her full capacity for
affection.
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