CHAPTER VIII.
GATHERING CLOUDS.
"Are you going to the 'Renaissance Club' tea, Marion, dear?" said Florence Moreland, coming into the library on the afternoon following the "Patricians'" ball. Marion was sitting on the low front window seat, and she held a sash curtain crumpled in her hand. Her eyes were slowly following the numerous sleighs gliding up and down the Lake Shore Drive. The sun shone brightly on the glistening snow, the bells jingled merrily, and the waving plumes of graceful sleighs combined, with the rosy faces of their fur-clad occupants, to form a cheery winter picture. But with all this brightness before her Marion looked thoughtful and disturbed. Perhaps the restless lake beyond, dashing its troubled waves against the grey sea wall, better expressed the thoughts which caused the discontented wandering of her eyes. She did not reply to Florence's question but continued looking out over the roadway, as though unaware of her friend's presence.
"Marion, dear," called Florence in a louder tone; "didn't you hear me?"
Mrs. Sanderson slowly dropped the sash curtain and looked up. "O, are you there?" she said vaguely.
"Yes, and I have been here an age trying to make you hear me," Florence replied. "What are you dreaming about?"
"O, nothing much," Marion sighed; but her voice told her friend that this was not quite true.
"You are in one of your moods again," said Florence. "You need me to cheer you up; but first of all tell me if you are going to the tea this afternoon?"
"O, I fancy so," Marion replied somewhat mournfully. "I wish the 'Renaissance Club' were in Kamtschatka, or some other such place, but Roswell actually promised to come home in time to take us, so I suppose we shall have to go. It is not time yet, though."