"I only came this morning," Beatrice said, as though to apologise for
the disorder.
Unorna sank down in a corner of the sofa, shading her eyes from the
bright lamp with her hand. She could not help looking at Beatrice, but
she felt that she must not let her scrutiny be too apparent, nor
her conversation too eager. Beatrice was proud and strong, and could
doubtless be very cold and forbidding when she chose.
"And do you expect to be here long?" Unorna asked, as Beatrice
established herself at the other end of the sofa.
"I cannot tell," was the answer. "I may be here but a few days, or I may
have to stay a month.
"I lived here for years," said Unorna thoughtfully. "I suppose it would
be impossible now--I should die of apathy and inanition." She laughed
in a subdued way, as though respecting Beatrice's mourning. "But I was
young then," she added, suddenly withdrawing her hand from her eyes, so
that the full light of the lamp fell upon her.
She chose to show that she, too, was beautiful, and she knew that
Beatrice had as yet hardly seen her face as they passed through the
gloomy corridors. It was an instinct of vanity, and yet, for her
purpose, it was the right one. The effect was sudden and unexpected, and
Beatrice looked at her almost fixedly, in undisguised admiration.
"Young then!" she exclaimed. "You are young now!"
"Less young than I was then," Unorna answered with a little sigh,
followed instantly by a smile.
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