The child sighed submissively and took the coffee that Giovanni brought to her. She and Imogene went into the salotto together. Mrs. Bowen was at her writing-desk. "You can bring the coffee here, Effie," she said.
"Must I go to bed at once, mamma?" asked the child, setting the cup carefully down.
The mother looked distractedly up from her writing. "No; you may sit up a while," she said, looking back to her writing.
"How long, mamma?" pleaded the little girl.
"Oh, till you're sleepy. It doesn't matter now."
She went on writing; from time to time she tore up what she had written.
Effie softly took a book from the table, and perching herself on a stiff, high chair, bent over it and began to read.
Imogene sat by the hearth, where a small fire was pleasant in the indoor chill of an Italian house, even after so warm a day as that had been. She took some large beads of the strand she wore about her neck into her mouth, and pulled at the strand listlessly with her hand while she watched the fire. Her eyes wandered once to the child.
"What made you take such an uncomfortable chair, Effie?"
Effie shut her book over her hand. "It keeps me wakeful longer," she whispered, with a glance at her mother from the corner of her eye.