'I will do whatever you want, Madge—but you must not say that I made the design for you. It won't be worth much at the best. I would rather have nothing said about it, dear.'
'Very well, Nan; that's just like you.'
CHAPTER XVIII.
A WHITE WORLD.
Next morning it still snowed and blew hard; no one could go out; it was clearly a day to be devoted to indoor amusements. And then Frank King, despite the state of the streets and the absence of cabs, made his way along, and was eagerly welcomed. As Mr. Tom's companion he was to spend the whole day there. Billiards, music, lunch, painting—they would pass the time somehow. And meanwhile the gusts of wind rattled the windows; and the whirling snow blurred out the sea; and Mr. Tom kept on big fires.
Nan remained in her own room. When Madge went up to bring her down she found her reading Thomas à Kempis.
'Frank has asked twice where you were,' Madge remonstrated.
'But that is not a command,' said Nan, with a smile. 'I should have thought, judging by the sound, that you were being very well amused below.'
Madge went away, and in about an hour after came back. She found that her sister had put away De Imitatione Christi, and was at her desk.
'Writing! To whom?'