“So here I am!” exclaimed the tall, majestic woman of fifty. And her lips twitched again as she looked round the room—so small to her.
“Yes, here you are!” Constance agreed. She bit her lip, and, as a measure of prudence to avoid breaking down, she bustled out to the cabman. A passing instant of emotion, like a fleck of foam on a wide and calm sea!
The cabman blundered up and downstairs with trunks, and saluted Sophia’s haughty generosity, and then there was quietness. Amy was already brewing the tea in the cave. The prepared tea-table in front of the fire made a glittering array.
“Now, what about Fossette?” Constance voiced anxieties that had been growing on her.
“Fossette will be quite right with me,” said Sophia, firmly.
They ascended to the guest’s room, which drew Sophia’s admiration for its prettiness. She hurried to the window and looked out into the Square.
“Would you like a fire?” Constance asked, in a rather perfunctory manner. For a bedroom fire, in seasons of normal health, was still regarded as absurd in the Square.
“Oh, no!” said Sophia; but with a slight failure to rebut the suggestion as utterly ridiculous.
“Sure?” Constance questioned.
“Quite, thank you,” said Sophia.