When the messenger returned her mistress gave directions that if a
gentleman called he was to be admitted at once, and sat down to await
results.
Sentimentally she did not much care to see him—his delays had wearied
her, but it was necessary; and with a sigh she arranged herself
picturesquely in the chair; first this way, then that; next so that the
light fell over her head. Next she flung herself on the couch in the
cyma-recta curve which so became her, and with her arm over her brow
looked towards the door. This, she decided, was the best position after
all, and thus she remained till a man’s step was heard on the stairs.
Whereupon Lucetta, forgetting her curve (for Nature was too strong for
Art as yet), jumped up and ran and hid herself behind one of the
window-curtains in a freak of timidity. In spite of the waning of
passion the situation was an agitating one—she had not seen Henchard
since his (supposed) temporary parting from her in Jersey.
She could hear the servant showing the visitor into the room, shutting
the door upon him, and leaving as if to go and look for her mistress.
Lucetta flung back the curtain with a nervous greeting. The man before
her was not Henchard.