She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity.
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