"No," answered Beth firmly. "I hope it will not be done."
Leaving her father to expostulate and argue, Judith went up-stairs to her chamber. Beth's disapproval had the effect of a cold sponge pressed upon her temples; she began to control herself. Never had Judith been able to overlook Beth's opinion lightly; she expressed the feeling of the best of their caste. What power had Ellis, Judith asked, that he could so carry her away? She sat down to reason with herself, to measure by line and square the structure reared by his imagination. Then she began to glow again: how wonderful, far-reaching, philanthropic were his plans!
In that mood she went to bed, and had fallen into a doze when she became aware that some one was replenishing the fire. When the bright blaze had lighted up the ceiling, Beth, in her wrapper, came and seated herself at Judith's side.
[CHAPTER XXII]
Haroun Al Raschid
Beth saw that her sister was awake; stooping forward, she kissed her gently. "Don't be put out with me, dear," she said, "for what I'm going to say."
"I will not," answered Judith. The hour, the warm bed, the firelight, made her unusually gentle. "What is it, dear?"
"It is that dinner," answered Beth. "I wish to make sure you understand—what people will think of it, I mean. Excuse me, Judith; I see it more clearly than you can, as a third person, dear."