“Oh, but I don’t nurse you, you know that; what’s my nursing good for? I only wish we had money enough to send you away for these terrible winters, or give you a room in some fine hospital.”
Maurice watched the birds dropping through the glow. A little maid brought in candles. Eloise began to walk up and down the room restlessly.
“Ah, well, we haven’t the money,” Maurice sighed.
“Money—money—it’s not altogether a matter of money; to me it’s a matter of life.”
“Well, to me it’s hardly a matter of money or of life.”
“Maurice, you must not think of that; I forbid it. I must do something. I feel that I can succeed. Look at me, Maurice—tell me now—”
She stood with her head thrown back; and poised lightly, and with a little frown on her face.
“Superb!” said her brother.
“I know I’ll do something desperate,” she said. “I must live; I was made to.”
“Yes, my dear, that is the difference between us.”