“The name irritates me—you repeat it so often!”
“Does it, dear? The man irritates me, and that’s infinitely worse. I wish you knew!”
“But he’s awfully good to you, Charlie. You can’t deny that, at all events.”
“Yes—and he calls me Lottie,” answered Charlotte, with much disgust. “You know how I hate it. But if you are going to lecture me on my husband’s goodness—Kitty, I tell you frankly, I won’t stand it. I’ll say something to you that’ll make you—just frizzle up! Remember the soapy sponge of old, my child, and be nice to your sister. I came here hoping to see you. I want to talk seriously to you. At least—I’m not sure. I want to talk seriously to somebody, and you’re the most serious person I know.”
“More so than your husband?”
“He’s grave enough sometimes, but not generally. It’s almost always about his constituents. They are to him what the liver is to some people—only that they are beyond the reach of mineral waters. Besides—it’s about him that I want to talk. You look surprised, though I’m sure I don’t know why. I suppose—because I’ve never said anything before.”
“But I don’t even know what you’re going to say—”
Mrs. Slayback looked at her younger sister steadily for a moment, and then looked at the window. The rain was still falling fast and steadily; and the room had a dreary, dingy air about it as the afternoon advanced. It had been Charlotte’s before her marriage, and Katharine had moved into it since because it was better than her own. The elder girl had filled it with little worthless trifles which had brightened it to a certain extent; but Katharine cared little for that sort of thing, and was far more indifferent to the aspect of the place in which she lived. There were a couple of dark engravings of sacred subjects on the walls,—one over the narrow bed in the corner, and the other above the chest of drawers, and there was nothing more which could be said to be intended for ornament. Yet Charlotte Slayback’s hard face softened a little as her eyes wandered from the window to the familiar, faded wall paper and the old-fashioned furniture. The silence lasted some time. Then she turned to her sister again.
“Kitty—don’t do what I’ve done,” she said, earnestly.