"Pamela went away this morning," she announced; "she came out yesterday to bid me good-by."
Rachel went on with the roses. "She needs a change: she's fallen off since last winter; Pamela's always in motion, like a merry-go-round."
"She thinks you look perfectly wretched."
"How complimentary! It seems we must have been taking stock of each other without any illusions on either side."
"You do look badly, Rachel, so white! You aren't ill, are you?"
"Do I look any whiter than you do? Come, Eva, we can't expect to look blooming; we've been through so much, you and I."
"I was in hopes I didn't show it; I can see that you do."
Rachel looked at her over the roses, a little vexed. "Well, you do show it."
"Do I?"
Eva went over to the mirror and gazed at her own reflection. The grace and loveliness of outline, the exquisite color of hair and eyes remained, but her face—now that she looked at it in the full light of the open door—was almost transparently pale. She sighed.