When the question was finally settled, Maruja was found to have become absorbed in conversation with some one else.
Amita, a taller copy of Maruja, and more regularly beautiful, had built up a little pile of bread crumbs between herself and Raymond, and was listening to him with a certain shy, girlish interest that was as inconsistent with the serene regularity of her face as Maruja's self-possessed, subtle intelligence was incongruous to her youthful figure.

Raymond's voice, when he addressed Amita, was low and earnest; not from any significance of matter, but from its frank confidential quality.
"They are discussing the new railroad project, and your relations are all opposed to it; to-morrow they will each apply privately to Aladdin for the privilege of subscribing." "I have never seen a railroad," said Amita, slightly coloring; "but you are an engineer, and I know they must be some thing very clever." Notwithstanding the coolness of the night, a full moon drew the guests to the veranda, where coffee was served, and where, mysteriously muffled in cloaks and shawls, the party took upon itself the appearance of groups of dominoed masqueraders, scattered along the veranda and on the broad steps of the porch in gypsy-like encampments, from whose cloaked shadow the moonlight occasionally glittered upon a varnished boot or peeping satin slipper.

Two or three of these groups had resolved themselves into detached couples, who wandered down the acacia walk to the sound of a harp in the grand saloon or the occasional uplifting of a thin Spanish tenor.

Two of these couples were Maruja and Garnier, followed by Amita and Raymond.
"You are restless to-night, Maruja," said Amita, shyly endeavoring to make a show of keeping up with her sister's boyish stride, in spite of Raymond's reluctance.

"You are paying for your wakefulness to-day." The same idea passed through the minds of both men.