It was a wet outlook across the meadows, over a low range of rocky and wooded hills, behind which the invisible sun had already set. In the drenched foreground, beyond the meadow's matted edge, the Deerfield River tossed and foamed, swollen a deeper amber by the rain—a wide, swift stream set with spray-dashed bowlders, and bordered alternately by ledges dripping with verdure and sandy stretches full of low rain-beaten willows. The world, through its limpid veil of rain, looked like a silvery aquarelle framed by a window.
Tea was presently served. Silvette in her silk lounging suit came over and seated herself on the edge of the bed; the maid finished drawing the bath, and retired until again summoned.
"Well," sighed Silvette, pouring the tea, "here we are, Di. How do you feel about it now?"
"Depressed," said Diana briefly.
"So do I, somehow.... I wish we were back in New York, with just enough to live on."
Diana swung her foot gently, but made no reply.
Presently she kicked off her sandal, lay thinking a moment, and then sat up and accepted the cup of tea offered by her sister. They sipped their tea in silence for a while, nibbled toast and cakes until sufficiently refreshed.
"After all," observed Silvette, "what we are doing for a living is purely a matter of personal taste. It ought not to depress us."
"We should have told him! That is the only thing that worries me," remarked Diana. "Still, it is really none of his business what we do for a living."
"After all," repeated Silvette, "what is there to tell him? Keno, Nevada, has nothing to learn from New York in frivolity, I fancy. There are several pretty women in every set who'd starve if they didn't play cards better than their neighbors."