She had moreover a great
fondness for intervals of solitude, which since her arrival in England
had been but meagrely met. It was a luxury she could always command at
home and she had wittingly missed it. That evening, however, an
incident occurred which- had there been a critic to note it- would
have taken all colour from the theory that the wish to be quite by
herself had caused her to dispense with her cousin's attendance.
Seated toward nine o'clock in the dim illumination of Pratt's Hotel
and trying with the aid of two tall candles to lose herself in a
volume she had brought from Gardencourt, she succeeded only to the
extent of reading other words than those printed on the page- words
that Ralph had spoken to her that afternoon. Suddenly the well-muffled
knuckle of the waiter was applied to the door, which presently gave
way to his exhibition, even as a glorious trophy, of the card of a
visitor. When this memento had offered to her fixed sight the name
of Mr. Caspar Goodwood she let the man stand before her without
signifying her wishes.
"Shall I show the gentleman up, ma'am?" he asked with a slightly
encouraging inflexion.
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