Thorpe nodded his head. He was watching the sick man's face very closely.
Half an hour later, Lutie Tresslyn and Anne Thorpe entered the elevator on the first floor of the building and went up together to the apartment of Simeon Dodge. Anne had lifted her veil,—a feature in her smart tribute to convention,—and her lovely features were revealed to the cast-off sister-in-law. For an instant they stared hard at each other. Then Anne, recovering from her surprise, bowed gravely and held out her hand.
"May we not forget for a little while?" she said.
Lutie shook her head. "I can't take your hand—not yet, Mrs. Thorpe. It was against me once, and I am afraid it will be against me again." She detected the faintest trace of a smile at the corners of Anne's mouth. A fine line appeared between her eyes. This fine lady could still afford to laugh at her! "I am going up to take care of my husband, Mrs. Thorpe," she added, a note of defiance in her voice. She was surprised to see the smile,—a gentle one it was,—deepen in Anne's eyes.
"That is why I suggested that we try to forget," she said.
Lutie started. "You—you do not intend to object to my—" she began, and stopped short, her eyes searching Anne's for the answer to the uncompleted question.
"I am not your enemy," said Anne quietly. She hesitated and then lowered the hand that was extended to push the button beside Simmy's door. "Before we go in, I think we would better understand each other, Lutie." She had never called the girl by her Christian name before. "I have nothing to apologise for. When you And George were married I did not care a pin, one way or the other. You meant nothing to me, and I am afraid that George meant but little more. I resented the fact that my mother had to give you a large sum of money. It was money that I could have used very nicely myself. Now that I look back upon it, I am frank to confess that therein lies the real secret of my animosity toward you. It didn't in the least matter to me whether George married you, or my mother's chambermaid, or the finest lady in the land. You will be surprised to learn that I looked upon myself as the one who was being very badly treated at the time. To put it rather plainly, I thought you were getting from my mother a great deal more than you were worth. Forgive me for speaking so frankly, but it is best that you should understand how I felt in those days so that you may credit me with sincerity now. I shall never admit that you deserved the thirty thousand dollars you took from us, but I now say that you were entitled to keep the man you loved and married. I don't care how unworthy you may have seemed to us, you should not have been compelled to take money for something you could not sell—the enduring love of that sick boy in there. My mother couldn't buy it, and you couldn't sell it. You have it still and always will have it, Lutie. I am glad that you have come to take care of him. You spoke of him as 'my husband' a moment ago. You were right. He is your husband. I, for one, shall not oppose you in anything you may see fit to do. We do not appear to have been capable of preserving what you gave back to us—for better or for worse, if you please,—so I fancy we'd better turn the job over to you. I hope it isn't too late. I love my brother now. I suppose I have always loved him but I overlooked the fact in concentrating my affection on some one else,—and that some one was myself. You see I do not spare myself, Lutie, but you are not to assume that I am ashamed of the Anne Tresslyn who was. I petted and coddled her for years and I alone made her what she was, so I shall not turn against her now. There is a great deal of the old Anne in me still and I coddle her as much as ever. But I've found out something new about her that I never suspected before, and it is this new quality that speaks to you now. I ask you to try to forget, Lutie."
Throughout this long speech Lutie's eyes never left those of the tall young woman in black.
"Why do you call me Lutie?" she asked.
"Because it is my brother's name for you," said Anne.