We went back to her room. She got out a bit of sewing—a colourless, shapeless thing, I don''t know if it was meant to be a tablecloth, or what. I never saw her working on anything else. She sewed in her gloves, very badly—making crooked stitches and then ripping half of them out. It made me nervous. We sat together before the spluttering fire, and talked in a weak kind of way—I forget what of—and then it grew dark, and a maid brought lights; and then the wind picked up and the windows began to rattle worse than ever. I said to myself, ''Dear God, let Gentleman come soon! I think a week of this will kill me''; and I yawned. Maud caught my eye. Then she also yawned. That made me yawn harder. At last she put her work aside and tucked up her feet and laid her head upon the arm of the sofa, and seemed to sleep.
That''s all there was to do there, until the clock struck seven. When she heard that she gave a bigger yawn than ever, put her fingers to her eyes, and rose. Seven o''clock was when she must change her dress again—and change her gloves, for ones of silk—to have supper with her uncle.