"Oh, I am so busy—but of course—Did you want to see me?" and there was no invitation in the voice or manner.
"Just for a moment," faltered Dorothy, determined not to be turned away without a hearing.
Viola reluctantly opened the door. Then she stepped aside without offering a chair.
"I have been worried about you," began Dorothy, rather miserably. "Are you ill, Viola?"
"111? Why not at all. Can't a girl attend to her studies without exciting criticism?"
Dorothy's face burned. "Oh, of course. But I did not see you out at all—"
"Next time I leave my room I'll send the Nicks word," snapped Viola. "Then they may appoint a committee to see me out!"
Dorothy was stung by this. She had expected that Viola would resent the interference—try to keep to her chosen solitude—but the rudeness was a surprise.
"But you are getting pale, Viola," she ventured. "Couldn't you possibly take your exercise with me to-morrow? I would so like to have you. The walk over the mountains is perfectly splendid now."
"Thank you," and Viola's black eyes again looked out of their depths with that strange foreign keenness. "But I prefer to walk alone."