"I am obliged to go down to the capitol; I have no time for Ethel," he said curtly.
But the beautiful wife he worshiped so tenderly drew her arm through his, whispering fondly, "Come," and he could not gainsay her imperial will.
Ethel was lying back wearily in a large armchair in her luxurious boudoir, with its furnishings of rose and gold. Her attire was peculiar.
She wore a long, straight black gown, very simple and severe in style, and a long black lace scarf was wound turban fashion about her regal brow, concealing every thread of her rich dark hair. As the door closed she motioned them to seats, and said abruptly:
"I have sent for you to ask your leave to enter a convent—to become a nun!"
"Ethel!"
"Ethel!"
The cry came first from the mother's lips, and was echoed by the father. Shocked surprise was in both voices.
She stood up tall and stately confronting them, her face corpse-white by contrast with her black attire and somber dark eyes. In an anguished voice she cried: