Benet's, once again."
The knock was repeated. Miss Oliphant sprang to her feet.
"Come in," she said in a petulant voice.
The handle of the door was slowly turned, the tapestry curtain moved
forward and a little fair-haired girl, with an infantile expression of
face and looking years younger than her eighteen summers, tripped a
few steps into the room.
"I beg your pardon, Maggie," she said. "I had not a moment to come
sooner-- not one really. That stupid Miss Turner chose to raise the
alarm for the fire brigade. Of course I had to go, and I've only just
come back and changed my dress."
"You ought to be in bed, Rosalind; it's past eleven o'clock."
"Oh, as if that mattered! I'll go in a minute. How cozy you look
here."
"My dear, I am not going to keep you out of your beauty sleep. You can
admire my room another time. If you have a message for me, Rosalind,
let me have it, and then-- oh, cruel word, but I must say it, my
love-- Go!"
Rosalind Merton had serene baby-blue eyes; they looked up now full at
Maggie. Then her dimpled little hand slid swiftly into the pocket of
her dress, came out again with a quick, little, frightened dart and
deposited a square envelope with some manly writing on it on the
bureau, where Maggie had been studying Prometheus Vinctus.
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