CHAPTER XXVIIHilary was at home again, taking off wet shoes, chilled and tired, and surprised to see that the endless winter day was working toward dark at last, when Dora came into her room.
“Why weren’t you at Elise’s luncheon?” asked Dora, who was in street dress, and who flung aside her furs to sit down beside the fire, stretch, yawn, and light a cigarette.
“I felt perfectly horrid.”
“Better?”
“Oh, all right, thank you, Butterfly. I walked, and I got some books downtown, and I went in to see the La Farge windows, since I was down that way. And I had my hair washed.”
Dora was silent, watching the fire, and smoking quietly. Hilary came in turn to stretch her feet to the blaze, her too-high colour somewhat faded, and her eyes showing fatigue. She had put on her thin silk kimono; her
