"My dear," said Sara glibly, "I am merely his sister-in-law. It wouldn't be necessary to ask me if he should come. He knows he is welcome."
"Then why should he feel called upon to—"
"Some men like to telephone, I suppose," said the other coolly.
"I wonder if you will ever understand how I feel about—about certain things, Sara."
"What, for instance?"
"Well, his very evident interest in me," cried the girl hotly. "He sends me flowers,—this is the second box this week,—and he is so kind, so VERY friendly, Sara, that I can't bear it—I really can't."
Mrs. Wrandall stared at her. "You can't very well send him about his business," she said, "unless he becomes more than friendly. Now, can you?"
"But it seems so—so horrible, so beastly," groaned the girl.
Sara faced her squarely. "See here, Hetty," she said levelly, "we have made our bed, you and I. We must lie in it—together. If Leslie Wrandall chooses to fall in love with you, that is his affair, not ours. We must face every condition. In plain words, we must play the game."
"What could be more appalling than to have him fall in love with me?"