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She would regain it, no doubt. She was even now regaining it. Already
she was able to say to herself that she was not seeing things in their
true proportions, that some sudden crisis of the nerves, due perhaps
to some purely physical cause, had plunged her into a folly of feeling
from which she would soon escape entirely. She was by nature emotional
and unguarded: therefore specially likely to be the victim in mind of
any bodily ill.
And then she was not accustomed to be unwell. Her strength of body was
remarkable. Very seldom had she felt weak.
She remembered one night, long ago in Sicily, when an awful bodily
weakness had overtaken her. But that had been caused by dread. The
mind had reacted upon the body. Now, she was sure of it, body had
reacted on mind.
Yet she had not been ill.
She felt unequal to the battle of pros and cons that was raging within
her.
"I'll be quiet," she thought. "I'll read."
And she took up a book.
She read steadily for an hour, understanding thoroughly all she read,
and wondering how she had ever fancied she cared about reading.


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