"I've got other things to do besides bothering my head about women's quarrels."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," still in the same high tone. "I thought it might be some kindly feeling in you."
"Go on, Nora, we're waiting," came the voice from the big chair.
Sour-dough! That's what those coats, such as Frank had on, were called. She had been wondering all the time what the name was. It was only the other day that Gertie had used the word in saying that she wished Eddie—no, Ed—could afford a new one. What a ridiculous name for a garment.
"I'm sorry I was rude to you, Gertie. I apologize to you for what I said."
"If there's nothing more to be said, we'd better go back to our work."
While her brother was speaking to his wife, Frank had taken a step forward. Somehow, the smile on his face had lost all of its ordinary mockery.
"You didn't find that very easy to say, I reckon."
"I'm quite satisfied." And then Gertie had dared to add: "Let this be a lesson to you, my girl!"
That was the last straw. The men had turned to go. In a flash she had made up her mind. Her brother's house was no longer possible. Gertie had, in a moment of passion, confessed that she hated her; had always hated her in her secret heart ever since she had read that protesting letter. What daily humiliations would she not have to endure now that she had matched her strength against Gertie and lost! It meant one long crucifixion of all pride and self-respect. No, it was not to be borne!