Not alone, for
she is ringed round by entrancing hopes and dreadful fears. They beam on
her and jeer at her, they pull her this way and that; with difficulty
she breaks through them and rushes to her pail, hot water, soap, and
a looking-glass. Our last glimpse of her for this evening shows her
staring (not discontentedly) at her soft old face, licking her palm,
and pressing it to her hair. Her eyes are sparkling.
* * * * *
One evening a few days later Mrs. Twymley and Mrs. Mickleham are in Mrs.
Dowey's house, awaiting that lady's return from some fashionable
dissipation. They have undoubtedly been discussing the war, for the
first words we catch are:
MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'I tell you flat, Amelia, I bows no knee to junkerdom.'
MRS. TWYMLEY. 'Sitting here by the fire, you and me, as one to another,
what do you think will happen after the war? Are we to go back to being
as we were?'
MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'Speaking for myself, Amelia, not me. The war has
wakened me up to a understanding of my own importance that is really
astonishing.'
MRS.
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