Yet, for all that, the maids or the housekeeper often passed through it, on their way to the suite beyond, and occasionally Page or Aunt Wess' came there to read, in her absence.The family spoke of the place sometimes as the "upstairs sitting-room," sometimes simply as "Laura's room."Now, as she cantered homeward, Laura had it vividly in her mind that she had not so much as glanced at the room before leaving the house that morning.The servants would not touch the place.But it was quite possible that Aunt Wess' or Page----Laura, the blood mounting to her forehead, struck the horse sharply with her crop.The pettiness of the predicament, the small meanness of her situation struck across her face like the flagellations of tiny whips.
That she should stoop to this! She who had held her head so high.
Abruptly she reined in the horse again.No, she would not hurry.Exercising all her self-control, she went on her way with deliberate slowness, so that it was past twelve o'clock when she dismounted under the carriage porch.
Her fingers clutched tightly about her crop, she mounted to her sitting-room and entered, closing the door behind her, She went directly to the table, and then, catching her breath, with a quick, apprehensive sinking of the heart, stopped short.The little heart-shaped match box was gone, and on the couch in the corner of the room Page, her book fallen to the floor beside her, lay curled up and asleep.
A loop of her riding-habit over her arm, the toe of her boot tapping the floor nervously, Laura stood motionless in the centre of the room, her lips tight pressed, the fingers of one gloved hand drumming rapidly upon her riding-crop.She was bewildered, and an anxiety cruelly poignant, a dread of something she could not name, gripped suddenly at her throat.
Could she have been mistaken? Was it upon the table that she had seen the match box after all? If it lay elsewhere about the room, she must find it at once.
Never had she felt so degraded as now, when, moving with such softness and swiftness as she could in her agitation command, she went here and there about the room, peering into the corners of her desk, searching upon the floor, upon the chairs, everywhere, anywhere;her face crimson, her breath failing her, her hands opening and shutting.
But the silver heart with its crown of worn gold was not to be found.Laura, at the end of half an hour, was obliged to give over searching.She was certain the match box lay upon the mahogany table when last she left the room.It had not been mislaid; of that she was now persuaded.
But while she sat at the desk, still in habit and hat, rummaging for the fourth time among the drawers and shelves, she was all at once aware, even without turning around, that Page was awake and watching her.
Laura cleared her throat.
"Have you seen my blue note paper, Page?" she asked.
"I want to drop a note to Mrs.Cressler, right away.""No," said Page, as she rose from the couch."No, Ihaven't seen it." She came towards her sister across the room."I thought, maybe," she added, gravely, as she drew the heart-shaped match box from her pocket, "that you might be looking for this.I took it.Iknew you wouldn't care to have Mr.Jadwin find it here."Laura struck the little silver heart from Page's hand, with a violence that sent it spinning across the room, and sprang to her feet.
"You took it!" she cried."You took it! How dare you!
What do you mean? What do I care if Curtis should find it here? What's it to me that he should know that Mr.
Corthell came up here? Of course he was here."But Page, though very pale, was perfectly calm under her sister's outburst.
"If you didn't care whether any one knew that Mr.
Corthell came up here," she said, quietly, "why did you tell us this morning at breakfast that you and he were in the art gallery the whole evening? I thought," she added, with elaborate blandness, "I thought I would be doing you a service in hiding the match box.""A service! You! What have I to hide?" cried Laura, almost inarticulate."Of course I said we were in the art gallery the whole evening.So we were.We did--Ido remember now--we did come up here for an instant, to see how my picture hung.We went downstairs again at once.We did not so much as sit down.He was not in the room two minutes.""He was here," returned Page, "long enough to smoke half a dozen times." She pointed to a silver pen tray on the mahogany table, hidden behind a book rack and littered with the ashes and charred stumps of some five or six cigarettes.
"Really, Laura," Page remarked."Really, you manage very awkwardly, it seems to me."Laura caught her riding-crop in her right hand "Don't you--don't you make me forget myself;" she cried, breathlessly.
"It seems to me," observed Page, quietly, "that you've done that long since, yourself."Laura flung the crop down and folded her arms.
"Now," she cried, her eyes blazing and rivetted upon Page's."Now, just what do you mean? Sit down," she commanded, flinging a hand towards a chair, "sit down, and tell me just what you mean by all this."But Page remained standing.She met her sister's gaze without wavering.
"Do you want me to believe," she answered, "that it made no difference to you that Mr.Corthell's match safe was here?""Not the least," exclaimed Laura."Not the least.""Then why did you search for it so when you came in? Iwas not asleep all of the time.I saw you.""Because," answered Laura, "because--I--because--"Then all at once she burst out afresh: "Have I got to answer to you for what I do? Have I got to explain? All your life long you've pretended to judge your sister.
