Her aunt, sitting by the window in the gathering twilight, did not hear her enter.
Miss Beach was reading, and the last little gleam of the sunset fell on her gray hair.

How worn she looked, Winona thought.

It had never struck her so forcibly before.

Was that a tear shining on her cheek?
Miss Beach rose slowly, put down her book, took her handkerchief from her bag and deliberately wiped her eyes; then, still unconscious of her niece's presence, she went out through the French window into the garden.
Winona walked across the room, hesitated for a moment but did not venture to follow her.

Almost automatically she took up the book which Aunt Harriet had been reading.