"It is over! it is over!" she repeated to herself again and again,
in nervous gratitude. "The worst is over!"

Mary talked, but she could not attend. She had seen him.
They had met. They had been once more in the same room.

Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling less.
Eight years, almost eight years had passed, since all had been given up.
How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval
had banished into distance and indistinctness! What might not
eight years do? Events of every description, changes, alienations,
removals--all, all must be comprised in it, and oblivion of the past--
how natural, how certain too! It included nearly a third part
of her own life.

Alas! with all her reasoning, she found, that to retentive feelings
eight years may be little more than nothing.

Now, how were his sentiments to be read? Was this like
wishing to avoid her? And the next moment she was hating herself
for the folly which asked the question.

On one other question which perhaps her utmost wisdom
might not have prevented, she was soon spared all suspense;
for, after the Miss Musgroves had returned and finished their visit
at the Cottage she had this spontaneous information from Mary: --

"Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne, though he was
so attentive to me. Henrietta asked him what he thought of you,