It was
late now-- past eleven o'clock. The electric light had been put out.
She was well supplied with candles, however, and lighting two on the
mantel-piece and two on her bureau, she proceeded to stir up her fire
and to make her room warm and cozy.
Rosalind still wore the pretty light silk which had given her such an
elegant appearance at the Elliot-Smiths' that afternoon. Securing the
bolt of her door, she pushed aside a heavy curtain, which concealed
the part of her room devoted to her wardrobe, washing apparatus, etc.
Rosalind's wardrobe had a glass door, and she could see her petite
figure in it from head to foot. It was a very small figure, but
exquisitely proportioned. Its owner admired it much. She turned
herself round, took up a hand-glass and surveyed herself in profile
and many other positions. Then, taking off her pretty dress, she
arrayed herself in a long white muslin dressing-robe, and letting down
her golden hair, combed out the glittering masses. They fell in
showers below her waist. Her face looked more babyish and innocent
than ever as it smiled to its own fair image in the glass.
"How he did scowl at me!" said Rosalind, suddenly speaking aloud. "But
I had to say it. I was determined to find out for myself how much or
how little he cares for Maggie Oliphant, and, alas! there's nothing of
the 'little' in his affection.
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