"Is he dead?" asked Cora kindly.
"I do not know. You see, I was once a very silly girl. Would you believe it? I am twenty-five years old!"
"I thought you young, but that is not old."
"Ages. But some day—who can tell what you and I may do?"
In making this remark she mumbled and hissed so that no one, whose eyes were not upon her at the moment she spoke, could have understood her.
Cora took courage. Perhaps she could help this strange creature.
Perhaps, after all, the imprisonment might lead to something of benefit.
"I could sleep, if you would like to," said Cora, for her eyes were strangely heavy and her head ached.
"When I finish my cigarette. You see, I am quite dissipated."
She was the picture of luxurious ease—not of dissipation—and as Cora looked at her she was reminded of those highly colored pictures of Cleopatra.
It was, indeed, a strange imprisonment, but Cora was passing through a strange experience. Who could tell what would be the end of it all?