“She certainly has no interest in Mr. Kingcote.”
“You can’t judge so speedily. I don’t say that I desire it,” Isabel added with an uncertain voice. “But I am sure it would be a happy thing.”
“Then why not desire it?”
“I don’t know, I can’t quite explain. And I half think she __has an interest in him; but then—poor Ada!”
“She isn’t so ugly as she was,” remarked Mrs. Stratton’s matter-of-fact voice. “I notice that distinctly.”
Ada rose and walked away with quick steps. At the corner of the house, as she passed it to reach the front door, a great gust of wind met her, and a troop of dry crackling leaves swarmed about her feet and dress; she bent her head and hastened on, not staying till she had reached her bedroom. There she stood, just within the door, motionless and purposeless. Her face was pale, her lips set at their hardest and cruelest. When at length she stirred, it was to go to the glass and view herself. She turned away with a laugh, no pleasant one....
As Isabel came downstairs a few minutes before the time for which the carriage had been ordered, she saw Ada standing in the doorway of the library.
“Don’t, of course, sit up for me, Ada,” she said.
“I will not. But I should be glad to speak to you now, if you could spare me a moment.”
Isabel gazed, surprised at her tone.