"I noticed, as I came through, that the music room was more thinly-populated—will you rest there?"
This was a mere boudoir compared with others of the suite, and the prepossessions of the company were for music of a different kind. The violin was discoursing its enchanting strains in the farther apartment, and there were not above a dozen persons in the one, where slumbered the piano and guitar.
"Are you indisposed, Miss Ross?" asked Mr. Brigham, who was fanning a fragile-looking girl, reclining in an easy chair.
"No—only tired. You have acted wisely in shunning the press and bustle, Miss Moore. I am happy to see you able to venture out in the evening."
"Your climate is doing wonderful things for me," answered Miss Moore, smiling.
"How dreadful to be deprived of health, and the hope of a long life!" said Ida, when they were seated.
"And especially mournful in this instance, if I am not deceived!" replied Mr. Lacy. "I pity that man! he will not believe that bereavement is inevitable; and if death was ever branded upon human brow, it is upon hers."
"I honor his constancy and devotion," said Ida. "The object of his visit in the fall, was to acquaint himself with the advantages our city possesses for invalids; then he went back for her mother and herself. He is both brother and lover. Who would have expected this from a man of his phlegmatic constitution?"
"Another warning of the folly of judging by appearances. It is possible, too, that we who are pitying her are as much in want of compassion. The highest happiness is unaffected by extraneous influences."
"Happiness!" echoed Ida, "It is a myth."