Anna wheeled an easy chair to the fire.
“You will have some tea?” she asked.
Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual.” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion.
“I have come for an explanation,” she said. “You are an impostor. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?”
Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement.
“Annabel!” she exclaimed. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?”
Annabel laughed scornfully.
“Oh, you know,” she said. “Don’t be a hypocrite. You are not ‘Alcide.’ You have no right to call yourself ‘Alcide.’ You used to declare that you hated the name. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. And yet the moment I am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in my rags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, all on my reputation.”
“Annabel! Annabel!”
Annabel stamped her foot. Her tone was hoarse with passion.