ation are vital forces. The buoyancy of youth, combined with candidness and poise of mental vision, relieved her personality of a something unsubstantial which was felt by those who saw her in moods of silence.
“How long have you been here? and why did n’t you ring for tea?” asked the older woman.
“I don’t know,” answered Anne vaguely. She bent forward, patting her soft hair into shape as she examined the tea-urn. “The lamp is out,” she said, still vaguely.
“Of course it is. I should ring for the butler at once if I knew how to speak to him. Where are the matches? Thank you. Now at last we shall have something hot. That fire—” She looked scornfully at the tiny grate with its flickering logs, but placed herself before it. Her excellent circulation was not proof against what was to her the chill of Italian rooms, and she wore a small Shetland jacket over her silk waist. Anne had not yet removed the furs she had been walking in.
“I do not know how we are to keep warm when the winter really sets in,” continued her aunt. “There are only these absurd fireplaces in the whole apartment, and one or two dreadful things the Romans have the impudence to call ‘American stoves.’ Sometimes, Anne, I wonder if we have not4
