"It's a warm day now, ma'am. John says, don't you want to use the car this afternoon?" Stella ventured anxiously.
"No, Stella, I don't want to go out today," she replied dully. "I don't think I care for any lunch either. You fixed everything so nice, too. I'll try to do better next time."
She arose from the table and was about to leave the room when she turned at the door.
"Stella, if anyone comes, remember I'm out—unless it's Mrs. Halloway. She wrote she would be home from the West any day. I'll see her."
"All right, ma'am."
But Stella shook her head as Venna disappeared.
"There's something wrong somewhere," she said to herself sadly. "She looks like a wilted flower. It's a dull old house with her father dead, her aunt married, and her husband traveling. But that doesn't account for her looking as though life was all entirely over, the poor dear!"
Venna went to her room and threw herself upon her couch in real despair.
Two weeks ago her aunt left the old home, a happy but tearful bride. Venna played her role, and smiled gaily until the time of parting was over, when she found herself alone with the servants in the once happy home of her girlhood. That was two weeks ago. It seemed like two years.
Her aunt's wedding trip was to be a joyous extended affair—she probably would be away three months.