Lutie lowered her eyes for an instant. A sharp struggle was taking place within her. She had failed to see in Anne's eyes the expression that would have made compromise impossible: the look of condescension. Instead, there was an anxious look there that could not be mistaken. She was in earnest. She could be trusted. The old barrier was coming down. But even as her lips parted to utter the words that Anne wanted to hear, suspicion intervened and Lutie's sore, tried heart cried out:
"You have come here to claim him! You expect me to stand aside and let you take him—"
"No, no! He is yours. I did come to help him, to nurse him, to be a real sister to him, but—that was before I knew that you would come."
"I am sorry I spoke as I did," said Lutie, with a little catch in her voice. "I—I hope that we may become friends, Mrs. Thorpe. If that should come to pass, I—am sure that I could forget."
"And you will allow me to help—all that I can?"
"Yes." Then quickly, jealously: "But he belongs to me. You must understand that, Mrs. Thorpe."
Anne drew closer and whispered in sudden admiration. "You are really a wonderful person, Lutie Carnahan. How can you be so fine after all that you have endured?"
"I suppose it is because I too happen to love myself," said Lutie drily, and turned to press the button. "We are all alike." Anne laid a hand upon her arm.
"Wait. You will meet my mother here. She has been notified. She has not forgiven you." There was a note of uneasiness in her voice.
Lutie looked at her in surprise. "And what has that to do with it?" she demanded.