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"Oh, then," said Etwald, turning toward Jen, "I am not to be accused of the murder." "One moment, Miss Dallas. What influence has Etwald over the negress?" Elinor rose, and going to her bag that was still dangling from the chair back where she had flung it in her hurried preparation for dinner, took out a cardcase, and drawing forth three square bits of gray cardboard, handed them to Patricia..
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The room was very dark at first, and little whispers ran all about in the gloom. There was a rustling and shuffling and a sound of hurried, muffled steps. Patricia, from her hiding place behind the door screen, could make out nothing but the dim oblong of the transom above her head and the long pale mass of the skylight. "I believe she'll like it," declared Elinor, confidently. "She does so love variety—and she has entered into everything already with such a vim." "Well, Dido didn't know that; she was never in this room." Elinor smiled absently, and then burst out fervently, "Isn't it all gloriously workmanlike—the bare walls and smudged doors and the painty smell, too? It's so serious. Outside, the people regard a picture as a mere luxury, but in here, here," she said, exultantly, "it is absolutely the necessary thing in life.".
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