“Nothing,” said Millie, slowly, then, quite suddenly, with one of those movements so characteristic of her, she flung herself on to her knees, caught Katherine’s hands, then stretched forward and pulled Katherine’s head down to hers—then kissed her again and again. The two sisters held one another in a close embrace, cheek against cheek, breast to breast. So they stayed for some time.
At last Millie slid down on to the floor and rested there, her head, with all its fair hair ruffled and disordered, on Katherine’s lap.
“Well ...” said Katherine at last, her head against her sister’s cheek. “Why, all this time, have you been so queer? Is it because you hate Philip?”
“No, I like him.”
“Is it because you hate me?”
“No, I love you.”
“Is it because you hate my marrying Philip?”
“No—if you’d do it at once.”
“Do it at once?”
“Yes—now—go up to London—Marry him to-morrow—”