The dash of cold water cleared her brain, but did not remove her headache. Her face was still flushed and her eyes expanded.
Mary coming back, looked at her a moment and then rushed upon her and hugged her.
"O what a beauty you are! I wish I had half what you've got."
Rose smiled faintly; she didn't care just that moment whether she looked well or ill.
"The boys will all be dead in love with you before dinner is over. Let me tell you about them." She softened her reed-like voice down and glanced at the transom furtively: "Never forget the transom when you're talking secrets," she explained.
"First, there's Mr. Taylor; he's from Colorado somewhere. He's a lawyer. He's a fine fellow too—you'll like him. Then there's Mr. Simons; he's a Jew, but he's not too much of a Jew. There's Alice Fletcher; she's queer and grumpy, but she reads a lot and she can talk when she wants to, and there's you and myself."
"I don't feel like meeting them tonight," Rose said; "if I had a cup of tea I'd stay in my room."
"All right! I'll bring it."
The bell rang and then the movement of feet and the banging of doors told of the rush to dinner.
Mary came back with a cup of tea and a biscuit and some pudding.