“About my sister,” she repeated slowly. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. Hang the wench! Roding was right. But, egad! I believe he will. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. You're the first widow I ever heard of who could withstand that lure.
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