“Your husband will lead you there.”
“My heaven! my heaven! I wish you had known what this is, a little—just a little.”
“I do know that it is a good and precious thing to do right,” said Rhoda.
“If you had only had an affection, dear! Oh I how ungrateful I am to you.”
“It is only, darling, that I seem unkind to you,” said Rhoda.
“You think I must do this? Must? Why?”
“Why?” Rhoda pressed her fingers. “Why, when you were ill, did you not write to me, that I might have come to you?”
“I was ashamed,” said Dahlia.
“You shall not be ashamed any more, my sister.”
Dahlia seized the window-blind with her trembling finger-tips, and looked out on the day. As if it had smitten her eyeballs, she covered her face, giving dry sobs.