As she was speaking, Harry entered. He took his mother in his arms, and then turned to Rose. “Good morning, Rose,” he said pleasantly. But Rose looked past him, and without a word in reply, she left the house.
“I am sorry you have quarreled with your sister, Harry,” said Mrs. Filmer. “If ever she needed your countenance and aid, it is now.”
“It is not my fault. Has she told you about the last——?”
“I have heard a dozen versions of the affair. Poor girl!”
“Mother, you ought not to condone her sins.”
“You made no objections to my condoning your sins, Harry—much more flagrant ones, too. And I do not think your wife need to put on so many airs about poor Rose.”
“Rose has wantonly wounded Yanna’s feelings very often.”
“Poor feelings! I wonder how they endured the pretty Cora’s extravagances of every kind.”
“Mother!”
“Well, Harry, there is no use in our quarreling. Where is Antony?”