ss; there was just enough of effort in tracing out the
intricacies of the interlacements to give a gentle sensation of
pleasure; and there was the latent consciousness, behind this voluntary
trifling, that it could be exchanged at any moment for the most terribly
real and absorbing excitement.

At length it occurred to her that time was passing, and the hour for tea
must be near at hand. She sat up on the bed, threw off her light sack,
and unbuttoned her boots. Going to the glass, she saw that her hair was
in disorder, and partly fallen down, and that one cheek was stamped with
the creases of the pillow. She pulled off her gloves, and looked
critically at her hands.

"It'll never do to go down this way!" determined she. "I must make
myself decent."

In half an hour more she was finished, and took a parting peep at
herself in the mirror. Cold water and a soft sponge had taken from her
face all traces of travel and emotion. Her dark, crisp hair was arranged
in marvelous convolutions, and from the white tip of each ear, peeping
out beneath, hung an Etruscan gold ear-ring, given her by Aunt Margaret.
Her cheeks were pale, but not colorless; her eyes glowed like a tiger's.
She was dressed in a black demi-toilet, relieved with glimpses of yellow
here and there; an oblong piece cut out in front revealed, through
softened edges of lace, the clear, smooth flesh of the neck and bosom.
The dream of a perfume hovered about her, and touched the air as she
moved. Her wide sleeve fell open, as she raised her arm, disclosing the
white curves, which were remarkably full and firm for one of her age.

She gave a little laugh as she stood there that made the ear-rings
quiver, and parted her lips enough to show that her small white teeth
were set edge to edge.

"It can't do any harm," was passing through her mind. "If I'm to be his
sister, he ought to like me. It's no use making him detest me. If he
loves Sophie so much, what harm can it do for him to be pleased with my
beauty? Besides, haven't I a right to my own good looks?"

She kissed her fingers to her reflection, and made a deep courtesy. As
she did so, she caught sight of the little petal-less rose-stalk which
had fallen out of her traveling-dress on to the floor. She picked it up,
and, after turning it idly in her fingers for a moment, she yielded to a
sudden fancy, and fastened it into the bosom of her dress; so that this
symbol of a body from which the soul had departed form