’ She spoke with difficulty, holding down the rising emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. On the day he carried the manuscript to Copeley's he brought back a packet of letters, magazines, and newspapers. I know nothing of that young lady. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. ’ There was a pause.
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