“Yes. Here by the window.”
Millie came across the room and stood by Katherine’s chair. In her voice there was the shadow of that restraint that there had been now between them ever since the Sunday with the Awful Supper.
“It’s only the Post. It’s just come. Two letters for you—one from Philip that I thought that you’d like to have.”
Katherine took the letters, laid them on her lap, looking up at her sister with a little smile.
“Well ...” said Millie, hesitating, then, half turning, “I must go back to Aunt Betty—I’m helping her with the things.”
“No. Don’t go.” Katherine, who was staring in front of her now into the black well of a garden, lit by the quivering, shaking light, put out her hand and touched Millie’s sleeve. Millie stood there, awkwardly, her white cotton dress shining against the darkness, her eyes uncertain and a little timid.
“I ought to go, Katie dear.... Aunt Betty—”
“Aunt Betty can wait. Millie, what’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter?”
“Yes, between us. For a long time it’s been—and worse since Philip went away.”