Perhaps Jenny's concern with it kept her from the
perception that not Glenfernie only was changing or had changed.
Elspeth--! But Elspeth had been always a dreamer, rather silent, a
listener rather than a speaker. Jenny did not look around corners; the
overt sufficed for a bustling, good-natured life. Gilian's arrival,
moreover, made for a diversion of attention. By the time novelty
subsided again into every day an altered Elspeth had so fitted into
the frame of life that Jenny was unaware of alteration.
But Gilian was not Jenny.
Each of Jarvis Barrow's granddaughters had her own small bedroom.
Three nights after Gilian's home-coming she came, when the candles
were out, into Elspeth's room. It was September and, for the season,
warm. A great round moon poured its light into the little room.
Elspeth was seated upon her bed. Her hair was loosened and fell over
her white gown. Her feet were under her; she sat like an Eastern
carving, still in the moonlight.
"Elspeth!"
Elspeth took a moment to come back to White Farm. "What is it,
Gilian?"
Gilian moved to the window and sat in it. She had not undressed. The
moon silvered her, too. "What has happened, Elspeth?"
"Naught. What should happen?"
"It's no use telling me that.--We've been away from each other almost
a year. I know that I've changed, grown, in that time, and it's
natural that you should do the same.
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