There is something fatally wrong with her appearance."
"About which part of my appearance?" demanded the young lady, who was
too well acquainted with her brother to be at all surprised or
disturbed by anything he could say.
"I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps its the _tout ensemble_. Yes, that's
just what it is."
"Do drive on, Edward, and don't be ridiculous. It's too cold to
discuss even so important a subject as that."
"I am sure you must be suffering from the cold." It was Allan who
spoke, turning round to her in a tone of quick, low tenderness.
"Not in the least!" Every small emphatic word was keen and hard as a
piece of ice. Then, in the white moonlight, she confronted something
that made her heart sink, it was the unmistakable look of mental
suffering, a look that showed her that he at any rate was suffering
from the cold--the sharp stinging cold of a winter whose beginning was
pressing bitterly upon them, whose end, so far as they could see, was
death.
The mansion of Madame DeBerczy sent out broad shafts of light through
its many windows to welcome the latest addition to the brilliant
throng already assembled in its ample interior.
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