"I wonder—" began Hetty, her eyes narrowing with the intensity of thought. She did not complete the sentence.
Sara answered the unspoken question. "It will never be different from what it is now, unless you make it so."
Hetty started. "How could you have known what I was thinking?" she cried in wonder.
"It is what you are always thinking, my dear. You are always asking yourself when will I turn against you."
"Sara!"
"Your own intelligence should supply the answer to all the questions you are asking of yourself. It is too late for me to turn against you." She abruptly removed her hand from Hetty's shoulder and walked to the edge of the verandah. For the first time, the English girl was conscious of pain. She drew her arm up and cringed. She pulled the light scarf about her bare shoulders.
The butler appeared in the doorway.
"The telephone, if you please, Miss Castleton. Mr. Leslie Wrandall is calling."
The girl stared. "For me, Watson?"
"Yes, Miss. I forgot to say that he called up this afternoon while you were out," very apologetically, with a furtive glance at Mrs. Wrandall, who had turned.