She recalled the vision she had allowed to dance
before her as she saw the pair cross the street together, laughing and
talking, and how it seemed to interpose itself against the fears which
already then--so strangely--haunted her. Now that she saw it so
fruitless--and that Verena, moreover, had turned out really so
great--she was rather ashamed of it; she felt associated, however
remotely, in the reasons which had made Mrs. Luna tell her so many fibs
the day before, and there could be nothing elevating in that. As for the
other reasons why her fidgety sister had failed and Mr. Ransom had held
his own course, naturally Miss Chancellor didn't like to think of them.
If she had wondered what Mrs. Burrage wished so particularly to talk
about, she waited some time for the clearing-up of the mystery. During
this interval she sat in a remarkably pretty boudoir, where there were
flowers and faiences and little French pictures, and watched her hostess
revolve round the subject in circles the vagueness of which she tried to
dissimulate. Olive believed she was a person who never could enjoy
asking a favour, especially of a votary of the new ideas; and that was
evidently what was coming. She had asked one already, but that had been
handsomely paid for; the note from Mrs. Burrage which Verena found
awaiting her in Tenth Street, on her arrival, contained the largest
cheque this young woman had ever received for an address. The request
that hung fire had reference to Verena too, of course; and Olive needed
no prompting to feel that her friend's being a young person who took
money could not make Mrs.
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