Cynthia turned a flushed and tear-stained face toward Eleanor, as the latter entered the boudoir and approached her couch.
"Is it all over?" she asked, choking back a sob.
"Yes." Eleanor lifted her black crêpe veil, and, pulling out the hatpins, removed her hat and handed it to Annette, who had followed her into the room. "Take my coat, too, Annette," she directed, "then you need not wait." As the servant left the room she pulled a low rocking-chair up to the couch on which Cynthia was lying, and placed her hand gently on the weeping girl's shoulder. "Are you feeling better, dear?"
"A little better." Cynthia wiped her eyes with a dry handkerchief which Annette had placed on her couch some moments before. "Oh, Eleanor, I am so bitterly ashamed of the scene I made downstairs."
"You need not be." Eleanor stroked the curly, fair hair back from Cynthia's hot forehead with loving fingers. "It was a very painful scene, and Dr. Wallace's tribute to Senator Carew, while beautiful, was harrowing. I am not surprised you fainted, dear."
"Aunt Charlotte didn't, and she was so devoted to Uncle James."
"Mrs. Winthrop had not been through your terrible experiences of Monday night. Consequently, she had the strength to bear to-day's ordeal with outward composure."
"No, dear. The services at the grave were very simple, and, as the funeral was private, it attracted no morbid spectators."
"Just the handful of people who were here for the house services."
Cynthia raised herself on her elbow and glanced searchingly about the pretty sitting-room filled with its bird's-eye maple furniture. The yellow wallpaper, with its wide border of pink roses, chintz curtains and hangings, cast a soft yellow glow, which was exceedingly becoming, as well as restful to the eye. The afternoon sunshine came through the long French windows which overlooked a broad alley.
"Eleanor, would you mind closing the door of my bedroom," she asked, "and please first see that--that Blanche isn't sitting there sewing."
Eleanor glanced curiously at Cynthia as she rose, crossed to the adjoining bedroom, and softly closed the door. "There is no one in your room," she reported, on her return to her rocking-chair.
Cynthia settled back among her pillows with an air of satisfaction. "At last I have you to myself. First the trained nurse, whom I didn't need, and then Aunt Charlotte, have always been hanging around, and I haven't had a chance to ask you any questions."