Only for a single moment did it occur to her that something she had said to Herbert Courtland when he was sitting there, there in that chair beside her, might have had its influence upon him—­only for a single moment, however; then she shook her head.

No, no! that supposition was too, too ridiculous to be entertained for a moment.  He had, to be sure, shown that he felt deeply the words which she had quoted as they came from Mrs. Haddon; but what could those words have to do with his sudden acceptance of Lord Earlscourt’s invitation to go to Norway?

She made up her mind that it was nothing to her what course Herbert Courtland had pursued, consequently the endeavors to fathom his reason for adopting such a course would be wholly profitless.  But the question of the singular moods suggested by the conduct and the words of her friend Ella Linton stood on a very different basis.  Ella was her dearest friend, and nothing that she had said or done should be dismissed as profitless.

What on earth had Ella meant by appearing in that wonderful costume that night?  It was not a toilet for the opera, even on a Melba night; even on a “Romeo and Juliet” night, unless, indeed, the wearer meant to appear on the stage as Juliet, was the thought which occurred to the girl.  Her fantastic thought—­she thought it was a fantastic thought—­made her smile.  Unless——­

And then another thought came to her which, not being fantastic, banished her smile.

Unless——­

She got to her feet—­very slowly—­and walked very slowly—­across the room.  She seated herself on the sofa where Ella had sat, and she remained motionless for some minutes.  Then she made a motion with one of her hands as if sweeping from before her eyes some flimsy repulsiveness—­the web of an unclean thing flashing in the air.  In another instant she had buried her face in the pillow that still bore the impress of Ella’s face.

“Oh, God—­my God, forgive me—­forgive me—­forgive me!” was her silent, passionate prayer as she lay there sobbing.  “How could I ever have such a thought, so terrible a thought.  She is my friend—­my sister—­and she put herself into her husband’s arms and kissed him!  Oh, God, forgive me!”

That was her prayer for the greater part of the night as she lay in her white bed.

She felt that she had sinned grievously in thought against her friend, when she recalled the way in which her friend had thrown herself into the arms of her husband.  That was the one action which the girl felt should entitle Ella Linton to be the subject of no such horrid thought as had been for a shocking instant forced upon her mind, when she reflected upon the strange passion which had tingled through Ella’s repetition of the fiery words of Juliet.