I passed Elizabeth Ames' room on my way to my own, and she called to
me, "Come in, Miss Sophie."
"It's so late," I protested, standing on the threshold.
But she was insistent. "Please come," she begged.
"You ought to be in bed," I scolded, "getting your beauty sleep."
But even as I said it, I knew she didn't need it, for she was as
daintily fresh as a rose. Her fair hair hung down in two heavy braids
over her white gown. She looked like a lovely child.
"Miss Sophie," she said abruptly, when she had put me into a big chair
in front of the fire, "tell me about Anne Beaumont and Mr. Dabney----"
"What about them?" I asked innocently.
"Were they in love with each other--years ago--before she married Mr.
Beaumont?"
I nodded. "They were engaged, and Anne was very young. She had never
seen much of other men, and when Mr. Beaumont came along, with his
air of foreign distinction, she was fascinated and broke off her
engagement. But she never really cared for Mr. Beaumont----"
"And you think Mr. Dabney has--has stayed single for her sake?"
"I think so. Yes."
"And you think he loves her still----?"
"You heard what he said to-night?"
"I don't call that love," she cried. "If he cared, he'd tell her. He
couldn't help it. It would just come--if he really loved her----"
"He thinks that she has never cared--and he isn't an impetuous boy----"
"I know--but he's a _man_." She was all aglow. "And if he cared, his
heart would say, 'I love you, I love you, I love you,' and then his
lips would say it----"
"You believe, then, that he doesn't care for her?"
"His allegiance is a memory--an old dream--of the girl she was, not of
the woman she is. Isn't she older than he, Miss Sophie?"
"She is younger," I said gravely.
"She seems older--and--it's spoiling his life. He--he won't look at
another woman--because in a way he feels bound to her. Some day I'm
going to tell him."