There might have been more excuse for it, she thought,
had she been speaking of matters less important--offering to do the
girl all the kindness in her power, too!
Sibyl yawned and swung her muff impatiently; she examined the sole of
her shoe; she decided on a new shape of heel; she made an inventory
of the furniture of the room, of the rugs, of the wall-paper and
engravings. Then she looked at her watch and frowned; went to a
window and stood looking out upon the brown lawn, then came back to
the chair she had abandoned, and sat again. There was no sound in
the house.
A strange expression began imperceptibly to alter the planes of her
face, and slowly she grew as scarlet as Mary--scarlet to the ears.
She looked at her watch again--and twenty-five minutes had elapsed
since she had looked at it before.
She went into the hall, glanced over her shoulder oddly; then she
let herself softly out of the front door, and went across the street
to her own house.
Roscoe met her upon the threshold, gloomily. "Saw you from the
window," he explained. "You must find a lot to say to that old
lady."
"What old lady?"
"Mrs. Vertrees. I been waiting for you a long time, and I saw the
daughter come out, fifteen minutes ago, and post a letter, and then
walk on up the street.
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