It grew quieter in the next room, then still, then the door between opened and closed. It was Celeste, outwardly unmoved and taciturn.
“P’tite’s gone to sleep. Shall I help lil’ missy unpack her things?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Summer in a half-grown Southern city is full of charm; pretty girls in muslin dresses stroll the shopping streets and stop on the sidewalks to chat with each other and with callow youths; picnic parties board the street cars, and in the evenings sounds of music and dancing float out from open doors and windows along the residence streets.
Alexina, chaperoned by Harriet Blair, would have found herself in these things, yet never quite of them.
“Malise,” Molly said quite earnestly, a day or so after her coming, “don’t you think it’s stuffy here?”
It was stuffy; hotel rooms in summer are apt to be; Alexina felt as apologetic as if Molly were the one who had given up a spacious, comfortable home to come and live in rooms for her. “I’m sorry,” she said. She had explained the necessity for it before.
“I thought you’d gotten the bank to take charge of your affairs,” Molly reminded her; “so why do we have to stay?”