This being done, she divested herself of her soiled garments, washed her face, brushed her curls, and was about going in quest of her companions, when the lady asked if she had friends there. Rosamond replied that she had, at the same time explaining how uncomfortable they were. "The hotel is full," said the lady, "and they all envy me my room; but if I pay for the best, I am surely entitled to the best. I shall not remain here long, however. Indeed, I did not expect to be here now, but sickness overtook me. I dare say I am the subject of many anxious thoughts to the person I am going to visit." There was a half-exultant expression upon the lady's face as she uttered these last words, but in the darkened room, Rosamond did not observe it. She was sorry for one thus detained against her will, and leaning against the foot-board, she said: "You suffer a great deal from ill-health, do you not? Have you always been an invalid?" "Not always. I was very healthy once, but a great trouble came upon me, shocking my nervous system terribly, and since then I have never seen a well day. I was young when it occurred--about your age, I think. How old are you, Miss Leyton?" "I am eighteen next October," was Rosamond's reply, and the lady continued, "I was older than that. Most nineteen. I am twenty-eight now." Rosamond did not know _why_ she said it, but she rejoined quickly: "Twenty-eight. So is _Mr._ Browning!" "_Who?_" exclaimed the lady, the tone of her voice so sharp--so loud and earnest, that Rosamond was startled, and did not answer for an instant. When she did, she said, "I beg your pardon; it is Mr. Browning who is twenty-eight." "Ah, yes, I did not quite understand you. I'm a little hard of hearing. Who is Mr. Browning?" The voice had assumed its usually soft, smooth tone, and Rosamond could not see the rapid beatings of the heart, nor the eager curiosity lurking in the glittering black eyes. The lady _seemed_ indifferent, and smoothed carelessly the rich Valenciennes lace, which edged the sleeve of her cambric wrapper. "Did you tell me who Mr. Browning was, dear?" and the black eyes wandered over the counterpane looking everywhere but at Rosamond, so fearful was their owner lest they should betray the interest she felt in the answer. "Mr. Browning," said Rosamond, "is--is--I hardly know what he is to me. I went to his house to live when I was a little, friendless orphan, and he very kindly educated me, and made me what I am. I live with him still at Riverside." "Ye-es--Riverside--beau-ti-ful name--his country--seat--I--sup-pose," the words dropped syllable by syllable from the white lips, but there was no quiver in the voice--no ruffle upon her face.