"But it could do no good to think of this."
"Perhaps not; but I want to ask you something. I know you'll forgive me. It's about Parker Stanford."
"You may ask me anything you like, of course, Cousin Anna. As for Parker Stanford, he's nothing more than the rest of the men I know, only he's been more polite. We are very good friends."
"No more?"
"No more; and we never shall be."
"But he surely wished to be?" The day had darkened until the room was lighted only by the flames of the soft coal fire which sputtered in the grate. The cousins could hardly see each other's faces; but in the dim light Berenice turned frankly toward Mrs. Frostwinch.
"That is all over now," responded she. "Of course to anybody else I shouldn't own that there ever was anything; but whatever there may have been is ended. He understands that perfectly."
For some minutes Berenice sat smoothing the invalid's hand, the firelight glancing on her face and hair.
"How pretty you are, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said at length. Then without pause she added: "Is there anybody else?"
Bee sank backward into the shadow with a quick, instinctive movement, dropping the hand she held.