It seems to be just he, himself."
He sketched out their plans to her. It seemed to be all going in at one
ear and out at the other. What was the matter with her? Perhaps she was
tired without knowing it. She would get him to tell her all about it to-
morrow. Also, to-morrow, she would tell him about Phillips, and ask his
advice. It was really quite late. If he talked any more now, it would
give her a headache. She felt it coming on.
She made her "good-night" extra affectionate, hoping to disguise her
impatience. She wanted to get up to her own room.
But even that did not help her. It seemed in some mysterious way to be
no longer her room, but the room of someone she had known and half
forgotten: who would never come back. It gave her the same feeling she
had experienced on returning to the house in London: that the place was
haunted. The high cheval glass from her mother's dressing-room had been
brought there for her use. The picture of an absurdly small child--the
child to whom this room had once belonged--standing before it naked, rose
before her eyes.
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