as she leaned in the doorway, fingering the diamond chain about her neck, while one satin-tipped foot emerged restlessly from the edge of her lace gown, her face lost the bloom of animation which talk and laughter always produced in it, and she looked so pale and weary that Justine needed no better pretext for drawing her into the room.
It was not in Bessy to resist a soothing touch in her moments of nervous reaction. She sank into the chair by the fire and let her head rest wearily against the cushion which Justine slipped behind it.
Justine dropped into the low seat beside her, and laid a hand on hers. “You don’t look as well as when I went away, Bessy. Are you sure you’ve done wisely in beginning your house-parties so soon?”
It always alarmed Bessy to be told that she was not looking her best, and she sat upright, a wave of pink rising under her sensitive skin.
“I am quite well, on the contrary; but I was dying of inanition in this big empty house, and I suppose I haven’t got the boredom out of my system yet!”
Justine recognized the echo of Mrs. Carbury’s manner.
“Even if you were bored,” she rejoined, “the inanition was probably good for you. What does Dr. Wyant say to your breaking away from his régime?”
She named Wyant purposely, knowing that Bessy had
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