breathless. An atmosphere of stress and passion hung about her like a garment.
"Why aren't you in bed, Rosemary?" demanded Ellen.
"Come in here," said Rosemary intensely. "I want to tell you something."
Ellen composedly removed her wraps and overshoes, and followed her sister into the warm, fire-lighted room. She stood with her hand on the table and waited. She was looking very handsome herself, in her own grim, black-browed style. The new black velvet dress, with its train and V-neck, which she had made purposely for the party, became her stately, massive figure. She wore coiled around her neck the rich heavy necklace of amber beads which was a family heirloom. Her walk in the frosty air had stung her cheeks into a glowing scarlet. But her steel-blue eyes were as icy and unyielding as the sky of the winter night. She stood waiting in a silence which Rosemary could break only by a convulsive effort.
"Ellen, Mr. Meredith was here this evening."
"Yes?"
"And—and—he asked me to marry him."
"So I expected. Of course you refused him?"
"No."
"Rosemary." Ellen clenched her hands and took an involuntary step forward. "Do you mean to tell me that you accepted him?"
"No—no."
