A cheerful wood fire blazed in the fireplace in the wide
reception hall. A bowl of hothouse violets greeted her with their
fragrant springlike odour; but heedless of the luxurious warmth and
cheer that pervaded the house, she hurried up-stairs, with the gloom
of the cloudy winter day in her tear-stained face.
"Lunch is served, Miss Alida," said the maid, meeting her in the upper
hall.
"Tell mamma that I don't want any," she answered, passing into her own
room. "I'm going to lie down. My head aches, and I do not wish to be
disturbed by any one."
A slight expression of annoyance crossed Mrs. Gooding's handsome face.
She and May were alone at lunch, and when the servant had left the
room she said impatiently to May: "I particularly wanted Alida to go
out with us this afternoon to call on Mrs. Lancaster's guest. She
takes so little interest in people outside the family, and it really
mortifies me to see how silent and stiff she is in company. She always
has some excuse to stay at home. She can never overcome her reticence
unless she goes out more. Oh, May, I wish she were more like you!"
As Alida lay up-stairs, battling with her tears and a throbbing
headache, a note was brought to her. It was from Ben Fuller, asking
her to be his valentine at Mrs. Lancaster's party. By this time she
had worked herself up to such a state of morbid sensitiveness that she
could not even write a gracious refusal.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34