“What? That I’m depressed? Don’t be silly! Do you like it strong? I’ve forgotten. It’s about right now, I should think.”
“A little water, please—no cream—one lump of sugar—thanks. No,” she continued, a little impatiently, “you know perfectly well what I mean, if you’ll only understand. I suppose that’s rather Irish—” she laughed again.
“It’s Greek to me!” replied Hester, smartly, as she poured out her own cup of tea. “You’re trying to say something—why don’t you say it?”
It began to be clear to Katharine that there were more difficulties in the way of what she was attempting to do, than she had dreamt of. She had expected that Hester would be quite ready to meet her half way, instead of intrenching herself behind an absurd and pretended misunderstanding, as she was doing. The best way seemed to be to enter into an explanation at once. She sipped her tea thoughtfully and then began again.
“I’ll tell you exactly what I mean,” she said; “so that you’ll see it as I do. I’m afraid that this question of money has come between you and me. And if it has, I’m very sorry, because I’m very fond of you, Hester.”
“Well—I’m fond of you,” answered Hester, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t see why the money should make any difference.”
“I hope it doesn’t. Only—I’m afraid it does, in spite of what you say. I don’t feel as though we could ever be again exactly what we’ve always been until now. But it’s not fair, Hester. It’s not just. You know very well that if I could have done anything to make the will good, I would have done it. I couldn’t. What could I do? It’s simply a misfortune that we were on opposite sides of the fight—or our people were. I’m not exactly what you’d call gushing, I suppose—indeed, I know I’m not. But it hurts me to think that we’re to be like strangers, because three men couldn’t agree about a signature. It’s unnatural. It’s not right. I came here to-day, meaning to say so—and I’m glad I’ve had the courage to say it without waiting any longer. But if we’re only to know each other—in a general way like distant cousins—why, it’s better to acknowledge it at once. It shan’t come from me—that’s all. But I’d rather be prepared for it, you know.”
“So far as I’m concerned, I don’t want to fight,” said Hester, coolly. “I don’t see any reason why we should. Of course we don’t throw ourselves into each other’s arms and cry with delight every time we meet, like schoolgirls. We’ve outgrown that. But as for my quarrelling with you because your father’s inherited a fortune when I ought to have had a part of it—it’s too ridiculous. You would have had a share, too, under the will. Then you ought to quarrel with your own father, much more than with me. Isn’t that common sense?”
“Yes—I suppose it is. But you don’t say it exactly as though—”
Katharine stopped short. She was afraid of seeming impulsive, as many people of self-contained natures are. She knew that she was not herself very expansive, as a rule, in her expressions of affection. But Hester was, and the change from her former manner to her present coldness was startling. One may miss in others what one would not have in oneself, and one may resent another’s refusal to give it. The regret of missing anything is not measured by its value, but by the strength of the habit its presence has created. Men liberated after years of captivity have missed their chains. The Irish woman in the typical story complained that her husband no longer beat her. She missed it.