Also, it deadened in her the sense of her own case--in relation to the
gossip of the neighborhood. Ostrich-like, she persuaded herself that not
many people could have known anything about her five days' engagement.
Dear kind folk like the Roughsedges would not talk of it, nor Lady Lucy
surely. And Oliver himself--never!
She had reached a point in the field walk where the hill-side opened to
her right, and the little winding path was disclosed which had been to
her on that mild February evening the path of Paradise. She stood still
a moment, looking upward, the deep sob of loss rising in her throat.
But she wrestled with herself, and presently turned back to the house,
calm and self-possessed. There were things to be thankful for. She knew
the worst. And she felt herself singularly set free--from ordinary
conventions and judgments. Nobody could ever quarrel with her if, now
that she had come back, she lived her own life in her own way. Nobody
could blame her--surely most people would approve her--if she stood
aloof from ordinary society, and ordinary gayeties for a while, at any
rate. Oh! she would do nothing singular or rude.
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