Something broke the stillness. The front door of the house she was
gazing at opened softly, and there came out into the porch a female
figure, wrapped in a large shawl, beneath which was visible the white
skirt of a long loose garment. A gray arm, stretching from within the
porch, adjusted the shawl over the woman's shoulders; it was withdrawn
and disappeared, the door closing behind her.

The woman went quickly down the box-edged path between the raspberries
and currants, and as she walked her well-developed form and gait
betrayed her individuality. It was Suke Damson, the affianced one of
simple young Tim Tangs. At the bottom of the garden she entered the
shelter of the tall hedge, and only the top of her head could be seen
hastening in the direction of her own dwelling.

Grace had recognized, or thought she recognized, in the gray arm
stretching from the porch, the sleeve of a dressing-gown which Mr.
Fitzpiers had been wearing on her own memorable visit to him. Her face
fired red. She had just before thought of dressing herself and taking
a lonely walk under the trees, so coolly green this early morning; but
she now sat down on her bed and fell into reverie. It seemed as if
hardly any time had passed when she heard the household moving briskly
about, and breakfast preparing down-stairs; though, on rousing herself
to robe and descend, she found that the sun was throwing his rays
completely over the tree-tops, a progress of natural phenomena
denoting that at least three hours had elapsed since she last looked
out of the window.