She had shaken out the coils of
lustrous brown hair which flowed about her shoulders glinting in the
light of the shaded lamp, and it was with a little gesture of physical
content she stretched her hands towards the hearth. A crumbling birch
log still gleamed redly amidst the feathery ashes, but its effect was
chiefly artistic, for no open fire could have dissipated the cold of
the prairie, and a big tiled stove, brought from Teutonic Minnesota,
furnished the needful warmth.
The girl's face was partly in shadow, and her figure foreshortened by
her pose, which accentuated its rounded outline and concealed its
willowy slenderness; but the broad white forehead and straight nose
became visible when she moved her head a trifle, and a faintly humorous
sparkle crept into the clear brown eyes. Possibly Maud Barrington
looked her best just then, for the lower part of the pale-tinted face
was a trifle too firm in its modeling.
"No, I am not tired, aunt, and I could not sleep just now," she said.
"You see, after leaving all that behind one, one feels, as it were,
adrift, and it is necessary to realize one's self again."
The little silver-haired lady who sat in the big basket chair smiled
down upon her, and laid a thin white hand that was still beautiful upon
the gleaming hair.
"I can understand, my dear, and am glad you enjoyed your stay in the
city, because sometimes when I count your birthdays I can't help a
fancy that you are not young enough," she said.
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