But her sister would not be comforted, would not respond to her entreaties or caresses. The better part of an hour went by; Page, knowing her sister’s nature, in the end held her peace, waiting for the paroxysm to wear itself out.

After a while Laura’s weeping resolved itself into long, shuddering breaths, and at length she managed to say, in a faint, choked voice:

“Will you bring me the cologne from my dressing-table, honey? My head aches so.”

And, as Page ran towards the door, she added: “And my hand mirror, too. Are my eyes all swollen?”

And that was the last word upon the subject between the two sisters.

But the evening of the same day, between eight and nine o’clock, while Laura was searching the shelves of the library for a book with which to while away the long evening that she knew impended, Corthell’s card was brought to her.