At the sound of the name Anna lifted her head quickly. “I’ve only my step-son to consider!”
The girl threw a startled look at her. “You don’t mean—you’re not going to give him up?”
Anna felt her lips harden. “I don’t think it’s of any use to talk of that.”
“Oh, I know! It’s my fault for not knowing how to say what I want you to hear. Your words are different; you know how to choose them. Mine offend you ... and the dread of it makes me blunder. That’s why, the other day, I couldn’t say anything ... couldn’t make things clear to you. But now must, even if you hate it!” She drew a step nearer, her slender figure swayed forward in a passion of entreaty. “Do listen to me! What you’ve said is dreadful. How can you speak of him in that voice? Don’t you see that I went away so that he shouldn’t have to lose you?”
Anna looked at her coldly. “Are you speaking of Mr. Darrow? I don’t know why you think your going or staying can in any way affect our relations.”
“You mean that you have given him up—because of me? Oh, how could you? You can’t really love him!—And yet,” the girl suddenly added, “you must, or you’d be more sorry for me!”
“I’m very sorry for you,” Anna said, feeling as if the iron band about her heart pressed on it a little less inexorably.
“Then why won’t you hear me? Why won’t you try to understand? It’s all so different from what you imagine!”
“I’ve never judged you.”
“I’m not thinking of myself. He loves you!”