Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. She stared. The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other.
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