But when the door had closed after Miss Ramsey she sat looking into the grate until the crimson coals had waned to livid ashes. The room grew cold and the shadows deepened in the folds of the curtains at the windows, which were stirred by a faint draught. From the street below an occasional noise rose, vague, unseizable--the roll of a wagon or the tramp of a passer-by upon the sidewalk. In a distant room a clock struck twice, with a soft whirring sound. From her gown, thrown across the back of a chair, the bruised violets diffused a fading sweetness. The embers waned one by one, and the visions in the fire grew spectral, like living faces which the warm blood forsakes. As the last one died she rose and went to bed. When she awoke in the morning it was to find Miss Ramsey standing beside her, holding her breakfast-tray. "You were sleeping very soundly," she said. "Did you have a good night?" "Oh yes," Mariana responded. She yawned and turned upon the pillows, stretching her arms above her head. The lace on her sleeves fell away from her bare elbows. "I slept very soundly, and I am sleepy still. The mere fact of getting up in the morning makes life a failure. Until I have had my bath I am always a pessimist." She sat up drowsily, running her hands through her hair. Then she turned to her tea, which was placed on a table beside her. "There are your violets also," remarked Miss Ramsey, pointing to a couple of florist's boxes; and, as an afterthought, she added: "Men are odd creatures." Mariana laughed. "Oh, they imagine that they are laying up treasures on earth," she answered, stirring her tea. "And they have overlooked the fact that moths corrupt. I shall advise them to transfer their attentions to Heaven. Who was it that called me 'unpropitious'?" "I don't like it," said Miss Ramsey. "I may be old-fashioned, but I don't approve of married men living as if they had no responsibilities." "Nor do I," agreed Mariana. "It bores one awfully." "And it makes people say unkind things of you, my dear. It is so hard for them to draw the distinction between imprudence and infamy." "Yes," admitted Mariana, pushing her cup aside. "I suppose it is--and I suppose I am imprudent." "I wish you would try to be a little more careful." Mariana caught her hand and pulled her down on the bed beside her. "What a treasure you are!" she said. "Do you know you are the one woman I absolutely believe in? You might have made a fortune by reporting scandals about me, and you haven't done so." The maid brought in several letters, and Mariana took them from her and broke the seals carelessly.