continue to love her stranger and at the back of her mind was the
unacknowledged conviction that Aunt Rose's choice must be well worth
loving. And again how strangely events seemed to serve her: first the
dropping of an orchid and now the leaping of a squirrel! She felt
herself in the hands of higher powers.

She had a feverish longing to see Rose again, to see her plainly for
the first time and dressing for dinner was like preparing for a great
event. Yet when dinner-time came everything was surprisingly the same.
The deceived Caroline and Sophia ate with the usual appetite, Susan
hovered with the same quiet attention, and Rose showed no sign of a
recent interview with a lover. Across the candlelight she looked at
Henrietta kindly and Henrietta remembered the three thousand pounds.
She did not want to remember them. They constituted an obligation
towards this woman who did not sufficiently appreciate her, who met
that man secretly, in a wood, who was beautiful with a far-off kind of
beauty, like that of the stars. And while these angry thoughts passed
through Henrietta's mind, Rose's tender expression had developed into
a smile, and she asked, 'Did you have a nice walk?'

Henrietta gulped. She looked steadily at Rose, and on her lips certain
words began to form themselves, but she did not utter them, and
instead of saying as she intended, 'Yes, I went across the bridge and
into those woods on the other side,' she merely said, 'Yes, yes, thank
you,' and smiled back. It had been impossible not to smile and she was
angry with Aunt Rose for making her a hypocrite. Perhaps she had
smiled like that in the wood and she did not look so very old. Even
the flames of the candles, throwing her face into strong relief as she
leaned forward, did not reveal any lines.