"About wishing a certain woman would ask him?"
"Yes. He will never ask me, Sophie. He thinks I am still mourning my husband—he thinks I don't care——"
There wasn't much to be said after that. But before I left her, I whispered, "Why don't you tell him, Anne?"
Anne's shocked eyes condemned me. "Oh, Sophie, as if a woman could!"
I passed Elizabeth Ames' room on my way to my own, and she called to me, "Come in, Miss Sophie."
"It's so late," I protested, standing on the threshold.
But she was insistent. "Please come," she begged.
"You ought to be in bed," I scolded, "getting your beauty sleep."
But even as I said it, I knew she didn't need it, for she was as daintily fresh as a rose. Her fair hair hung down in two heavy braids over her white gown. She looked like a lovely child.
"Miss Sophie," she said abruptly, when she had put me into a big chair in front of the fire, "tell me about Anne Beaumont and Mr. Dabney——"