Stella put up her hand.
"Don't!—Spare me!" she uttered, hoarsely.
"But why—why should it be?" murmured Lilian, clinging to her hand. "Why, Stella, you cannot guess how he loves you? There never was love so deep, so pure, so true as his!"
A faint flush broke over the pale face.
"I know it," she breathed. Then, with a sharp, almost fierce energy, "Have you come to tell me that—me who know him so well? Was it worth while? Do you think I do not know what I have lost?"
"You promised not to be angry with me, Stella."
"Forgive me—I—I scarcely know what I am saying! You did not come for that; what then?"
"To hear from your own lips, Stella, the reason for this. Bear with me, dear! Remember that I am his sister, that I love him with a love only second to yours! That all my life I have loved him, and that my heart is breaking at the sight of his unhappiness. I have come to tell you this—to plead for him—to plead with you for yourself! Do not turn a deaf ear, a cold heart to me, Stella! Do not, do not!" and she clung to the hot hands, and looked up at the white face with tearful, imploring eyes.
"You say you know him; you may do so; but not so well as I, his sister. I know every turn of his nature—am I not of the same flesh and blood? Stella, he is not like other men—quick to change and forget. He will never bend and turn as other men. Stella, you will break his heart!"
Stella turned on her like some tortured animal driven to bay.