“Katy—Katy.”
“Yes.”
“You’re different, something’s happened to you.”
“My dear!—nothing, of course.”
“Yes, something has.—Something ... Katy!” And here Milly flung her arms again about her sister and stared into her eyes. “You’re in love with someone.”
But Katherine laughed. “That’s Paris, Milly dear—Paris—Paris.”
“It isn’t. It isn’t. It’s you. There is someone. Katy, darling, tell me—you’ve always told me everything: who is he? tell me.”
Katherine drew herself away from Milly’s embrace, then turned round, looking at her sister. Then she caught her and kissed her with a sudden urgent passion. “There’s no one, of course there’s no one. I’m the old maid of the family. You know we, long ago, decided that. I’m not ...” she broke off, laughed, got up from the bed. She looked at Milly as though she were setting, subduing some thoughts in her mind. “I’m just the same, Milly. You’re different, of course.”
At a sudden sound both the girls looked up. Their mother stood in the doorway, with her placidity, her mild affection; she looked about the room.
“I had to come, my dears, to see how you were getting on.” She moved forward slowly towards them.