“Why don’t you speak, I say?” cried May with childish petulance.
“I am praying for help and guidance, sister, for I do not know.”
May let herself sink down upon the carpet with her hands clasped, as she gazed straight at her sister, looking to her for advice and help, while Claire remained with her eyes fixed, deeply pondering upon their terrible position.
“I can only think of one thing,” she said at last. “I must see Louis Gravani, and tell him all.”
“No, no; I tell you he will kill me.”
“He loves you, May; and I must appeal to him to act like a gentleman in this terrible strait.”
“Don’t I tell you that he is a passionate Italian, and that he would kill me. He always used to say that he felt as if he could stab anybody who came between us. Oh, Claire, what shall I do? My poor life’s full of miserable troubles. I wish I were dead.”
“Hush, May, and try and help me, instead of acting in this childish way.”
“There, now you turn against me.”
“No, no, my poor sister. I want to help you, and give you strength.”