Every breath she
took was an unspoken gratitude.
"Do you see your sister often?" she asked, as he handed her her cup
of coffee.
"Often? No, once a month perhaps." His lips shut tight, as though
the question had been a plea that he should see her more frequently
and he were determined to refuse.
"But why is that?" she asked sympathetically. "Doesn't she often come
to Town?"
"Oh yes--most part of the year. They've got a small house in Sloane
Street, and live there all the winter."
Sally looked at him with troubled eyes--troubled in sympathy because,
with the quick wit of a woman in love, she had felt here the need
of it. His sister lived in Sloane Street--lived there for the most
part of the winter, and he saw but little of her; yet he kept her
miniature lovingly in his room. If there is but one woman pictured
on his walls, you may be sure a man rates her high. Sally knew all
this--knew there was more behind it, yet hesitated to intrude.
Another gentle question was rising to her lips, when he volunteered
it all.
"My sister and I differ in our points of view," he said without
sentiment. "We look at life from hopelessly opposite quarters.
That's why I live here.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188