Last night she had hoped it would be spent as yesterday was, that the evening would be again passed with happiness and Robert. She had learned her mistake this morning; and yet she could not settle down, convinced that no chance would occur to recall her to Hollow's Cottage, or to bring Moore again into her society.
He had walked up after tea more than once to pass an hour with her uncle. The door-bell had rung, his voice had been heard in the passage just at twilight, when she little expected such a pleasure; and this had happened twice after he had treated her with peculiar reserve; and though he rarely talked to her in her uncle's presence, he had looked at her relentingly as he sat opposite her work-table during his stay. The few words he had spoken to her were comforting; his manner on bidding her good-night was genial. Now, he might come this evening, said False Hope. She almost knew it was False Hope which breathed the whisper, and yet she listened.
She tried to read--her thoughts wandered; she tried to sew--every stitch she put in was an _ennui_, the occupation was insufferably tedious; she opened her desk and attempted to write a French composition--she wrote nothing but mistakes.

Last night she had hoped that the evening would be again passed happily with Robert. She had learned her mistake; and yet she could not settle down.
More than once, Robert had walked up after tea to spend an hour with her uncle. The door-bell had rung, his voice had been heard in the passage at twilight; and this had happened twice after he had treated her with peculiar reserve. Though he rarely talked to her in her uncle's presence, he had looked at her relentingly, and had bid her good-night kindly. Now, he might come this evening, False Hope whispered. She almost knew it was False Hope, and yet she listened.
She tried to read - her thoughts wandered; she tried to sew - but it was unbearably tedious; she opened her desk and attempted to write a French composition - she wrote nothing but mistakes.
