A rose-coloured lantern hung over the electric lamp. In the tempered light Hope looked not a day older. Perhaps she should not have; three years is no great time in the early twenties. But to Mary's quietly observant second glance it was plain she was thinner, and her sleepy eyes seemed larger, still softly blue, but impenetrable. Inquiring eyes still, now they volunteered nothing; and her thinness brought out strongly the salient line from chin to ear. "I never noticed the visible sign of her obstinacy before," thought Mary, saying aloud: "You're pretty sometimes, Hope." "What a backhander," remarked Hope. "Would you like me to tell you you must have been pretty once? I look a hag by daylight. Did you come all this way to flatter me? Tell me all the news instantly. Oh, if I could tell you how I've missed you!" "Well, I was pretty once," remarked Mary placidly. "That's no mean consolation—at thirty. And I came all this way to beat you.
