Constance followed her friend up to the room where they had so often passed long hours together, wondering idly at Sybil’s composure and seeming resignation, and shudderingly recalling the blank devouring stare of the man who was her husband.
It was the first time since Sybil’s return that they had been alone together, and Constance half dreaded the interview, as well as wondered not a little that the opportunity was of Sybil’s own making; hitherto she seemed anxious to avoid a tête-à-tête.
tête-à-têteSybil moved straight on in advance of her friend, and never turned her head nor spoke, until the door of her boudoir had shut them in; then she turned and faced her companion, uttering as she did so a low mirthless laugh.
boudoir“Well!” she asked abruptly, “how do you like him?”
Constance
