The Swan of Vilamorta by Emilia Pardo Bazán

Nieves spent a restless night and when she awoke in the morning the incidents of the preceding evening presented themselves to her mind vaguely and confusedly as if she had dreamed them; she could not believe in the reality of Segundo's singular hardihood, that taking possession of her, that audacious outrage, that she had not known how to resent. How compromising the position in which the daring of the poet had placed her! And what if anyone had noticed it? When she bade good-night to the girls who had been sitting with her at the window, they had smiled in a way that was -- well, odd; Carmen Agonde, the fat girl with the sleepy eyes and placid temper, gave evidence at times of a strain of malice. But, no; how could they have observed anything? The shawl she had worn was large and had covered her whole figure.

And Nieves took the shawl, put it on and looked at herself in the mirror, using a handglass to obtain a complete view of her person, in order to assure herself that, enveloped in this garment, it was impossible for an arm passed around her waist to be seen. She was engaged in this occupation when the door opened and someone entered. She started and dropped the glass.