Miss Chase half turned from the window; the sunset rays fell upon her hair and forehead, and, partially shut in by the folds of the curtains, she made an exceedingly striking picture.
Margaret was buttoning her gauntlets, but Laurence caught the effect, and was pleased, as any one with the slightest artistic taste must have been.
"You have not put on your habit, Miss Chase," he said. "Don't you ride with us?"
"I made my excuses to Miss Waring an hour ago," she replied, in the sweet, calm voice habitual with her.
"She has a bad headache," said the young lady mentioned, looking up from her task, "and is bent on a solitary walk in hopes of curing it."
"I thought you were never troubled with such pretty little female ailments," returned Laurence, pleasantly.
"It very seldom happens," answered Miss Chase, indifferently, turning more toward the window, as if she did not wish any conversation to deprive her of a view of the sunset.
"It seems a little selfish for us to leave you to a lonely walk," he continued.
"So I told her," added Margaret; "but she would not be persuaded."