She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. “And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I am sorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet than hers. I believed that our marriage was genuine. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. The villagers were thronging to church. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb.
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