To these words the Doctor disappeared, and Roberta began to amplify and explain and justify her position and her intentions. She talked to Christine, while Christine cooked their meals and did all the necessary housework. She begged her to lock the doors against all intruders, and then making herself comfortable in the large cushioned chair by the fireside, she took off her tight shoes, and divested her hair of all its pads, and combs, and rats, and with a sigh of relief said, “Now we can talk comfortably.” They talked all day long, and they talked of Neil. A little later, she was eager to tell Christine all about her brother’s unaccountable marriage. “I was really ashamed of the affair, Christine,” she said. “No consideration for others, scarcely time to make the wedding-dress, and I think she asked everyone she saw to come to her marriage. She talked the slang of every country she had visited, and the men all thought it ‘so funny’ when she kicked up her dress with her heel, and treated them to a bit of London or New York slang. The perfectly silly and easy way in which men are caught, and tied fast, always amazes me, Christine. It is just like walking up to a horse’s head, with a dish full of corn in one hand and a bridle in the other. This little Sabrina Wales walked up to Reginald Rath with a bit of London slang on her lips, and a wedding ring hid in the palm of her hand, and the poor man is her slave for life.”
“Not necessarily a slave for life, Roberta.”
“Necessarily. No remission. No redemption. The contract reads ‘until death us part.’”
They discussed Sabrina from head to feet—her hair, her eyes, her complexion, her carriage, her way of dressing, her gowns—all short in front and long behind—“can you guess what for, Christine?”
“Perhaps she has pretty feet.”
“She has very small ones. I do not know whether they are pretty or not. But the effect is striking, if you watch her from the front—you can’t help thinking of a turkey gobbler.”
The hours went happily enough, Christine enjoyed them. After her paper heroine, this all-alive, scornful, loving and hating, talking and laughing woman was a great pleasure. Christine baked delicious scones, and scalloped some fine oysters in bread crumbs and chopped parsley, and made one or two pots of Pekoe and Young Hyson tea, and they nibbled and sipped, and talked over the whole sacred druidical family of the Raths, even to Aunt Agatha, who was worth half a million pounds—“which I threw away for a good joke,” said Roberta.
“Look at the clock, it is near midnight! We must go to bed.”
“Well, then, I have had the loveliest day. I shall never forget it, and I will tell Neil all about it before long. Dear Christine, I am glad you are my sister, it lets me take nice little liberties with you; and you know, I love you, but that is inevitable. No one can help it.”