"I cannot see him through your eyes, Sara."
"But he IS charming and agreeable, you'll admit," persisted the other.
"He is very kind, and he is devoted to you. I should like him for that."
"You have no cause for disliking him."
"I do not dislike him. I—I am—Oh, you always have been so thoughtful, so considerate, Sara, I can't understand your failing to see how hard it is for me to—to—well, to endure his open-hearted friendship."
Sara was silent for a moment. "You draw a pretty fine line, Hetty," she said gently.
Hetty flushed. "You mean that there is little to choose between wife and brother? That isn't quite fair. You know everything, he knows nothing. I wear a mask for him; you have seen into the very heart of me. It isn't the same."
Sara came over and stood beside the girl's chair. After a moment of indecision, she laid her hand on Hetty's shoulder. The girl looked up, the ever-recurring question in her eyes.
"We haven't spoken of—of these things in many months, Hetty."
"Not since Mrs. Wrandall and Vivian came to Nice. I was upset—dreadfully upset then, Sara. I don't know how I managed to get through with it."