"But I want a word with you first . . . Let me in, please. I must, Bee!"
The wave of resentment again rose high, and Bee pressed both hands on her chest, as if to hold it down. But she had always given way to the elder girl; and habit is strong. After some further hesitation, she very slowly withdrew the bolt. Amy opened, and hurriedly entered.
"What is it that you want?" Bee asked icily.
"I want you. What made you keep me out? That is not like my darling."
She came close, and folded both arms round Bee; but there was no response. Bee seemed an image of snow; as white, as chill; not resisting, but simply enduring the embrace. Never, in all the years that they had known one another, had Amy seen her like this.
Releasing the passive figure, she stood looking, with troubled eyes—herself a small being, in a crude red dressing-gown, her limp light hair hanging loose in rats' tails.
"Bee dear—what is it?"
"Will you please leave me alone!"
"Why were you so stiff to him this afternoon?"
The question was unexpected, and heavy throbbing in Bee's throat answered quickly to it. She said only—