She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. " Lady Trafford sighed deeply. Did he not look for her in the morning when she entered—come very quickly to her? She thought of him as she had last seen him looking down the length of the laboratory to see her go. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. ‘Allow me.
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