"Oh, see," she said playfully, "there is a difference—that little pink mole on my arm. Valmai, you haven't got it."
"No," said Valmai, critically examining her wrist, with rather a dissatisfied look, "I haven't got that; but in everything else we are just alike. How lovely you are, Gwladys."
"And you, Valmai, how sweet." And again they embraced each other.
"I have no dress to change for dinner, dear. Do you dress?"
"Oh, only just a little, and I won't at all this evening. How strange we should both be in mourning, too! Mine is for Mrs. Power's sister. Who are you wearing black for?"
A hot blush suffused Valmai's face and neck as she answered slowly:
"I am not in mourning, but thought black would be nice to travel in. I generally wear white."
"How strange! so do I," said Gwladys; "white or something very light. Shall we go down, dear? Would you like a bedroom to yourself, or shall we sleep together?"
"Oh, let us sleep together!"
And with arms thrown over each other's shoulders, they descended the broad staircase, just as Mrs. Power, in answer to William's summons, was crossing the hall to the dining-room.