o be. She
longed to fling up the shades, to let in the sunshine, to drive out the
dust and cobwebs, to put fresh flowers in the place of the dead ones.
She longed, as she said to herself with a smile, "to get her hands on
the room." If she could only change all this hopelessness into
happiness! If she could only restore pleasure here, or at least the
semblance of peace! "It is just as well that all of us can't feel things
this much," she reflected.

"Mrs. Rokeby ain't dressed, but she says would you mind coming up?" The
maid, having attired herself in a clean apron and a crooked cap, stood
in the doorway. As Corinna followed her, she led the way up the narrow
stairs into the bedroom where Alice was waiting.

"I thought you wouldn't be dressed," began Corinna cheerfully, "but it's
the only time I have free, and I wanted to see you this morning."

"It is so good of you," responded Alice, putting out her hand.
"Everything looks dreadful, I know; but I haven't been well, and one of
the servants has gone to a funeral in the country."

"It doesn't matter," Corinna hesitated an instant, "only I wish you
would make some one throw out those dead flowers downstairs."

"I haven't been in the room for a week," replied Alice, dropping back on
the couch as if her strength had failed her. "I don't seem to care about
the house or anything else."

As soon as her surprise at Corinna's visit had faded, she sank again
into a listless attitude. Her figure grew relaxed; the faint animation
died in her face; and she gazed at her visitor with a look of passive
tragedy, which made Corinna, who was never passive, feel that she should
like to shake her. Her soft brown hair, as fine as spun silk, was tucked
under a cap of old lace, and beneath the drooping frill her melancholy
features reminded Corinna of a Byzantine saint. Over her nightgown, she
had thrown on a Japanese kimono of ashen blue, embroidered in plum
blossoms which looked wilted. Everything about her, Corinna thought,
looked wilted, as if each inanimate object that surrounded her had been
stricken by the hopelessness of her spirit. To Corinna's energetic
temperament, there was something positively immoral in this languid
resignation. "Un-happiness like this is contagious," she thought. "And
all because one man has ceased to love her! What utter folly!" Aloud she
said only, "I came to ask you to go with me to the Harrisons' dance."

"To-morrow? Oh, Corinna, I couldn't!"

"Do y