She broke off again, and looked from Olive's face, far away.
Mrs. Arundel's voice took on an awed tone. "Are you really superstitious, Sophy?"
"About that, I am."
"About what?"
"About a room with three windows. Don't ask me. I can't explain it. It's just a feeling."
"Olive!... Come along! We'll be late!" shouted Arundel, from the hall.
The two women went down together, Mrs. Arundel still rather awed. Sophy's eyes were really so uncanny sometimes. Very, very beautiful, of course, but eerie. Now if she, Olive Arundel, were a man—she would prefer something less peculiar, more "human." Olive was very fond of this word, "human." She felt that, like charity, it covered a multitude of sins—pretty, pleasant little sins.
When they reached the Ponceforths', the musicale was in full swing. Some one was singing a song by Maude Valerie White. Sophy heard a little gasp from Olive—her arm was impetuously seized.
"Sophy," she whispered, in spite of the singing, "there are three windows!"