"She's inclined to be fat, but, of course, she is pretty, in her own style—very. And the little girl is a perfect darling—little Rosemary.
"But, Alex, here am I talking you to death when you must be dying for tea. What sort of a crossing did you have?"
"Not very bad, but I was ill all the way."
"Oh, no wonder you look so washed out," said Barbara, as though relieved, but she went on eyeing her sister uneasily through the rapidly increasing dusk.
When Ada came in with the tea appointments, Barbara told her to bring the lamp.
"Yes'm. And your bag, 'm—may I have the key?"
Alex looked bewildered, then recollected that the maid was offering to unpack for her, and pulled out the key from her purse.
"Isn't there your trunk still to come?" asked Barbara.
"No. You see, I hadn't much to bring—only just one or two things that I got in Rome."
Alex wondered if Barbara understood that until a few months ago she had been a nun, living the life of a nun. She thought of the apprehension with which she had viewed making an explanation to Barbara, and almost smiled. It appeared that no explanation would be required of her.