“Why can’t you, Olga? I want you very much,” Laura urged.
“My sister is with me now. I cannot leave her.”
“But just this once—please, Olga.”
Laura’s eyes—warm, loving, compelling—looked into Olga’s, dark, sombre, and miserable; and suddenly with a little gasping sob the girl yielded because she knew if she stood there another minute she would break down.
“I’ll—come,” she promised, and without another word turned and hurried back into the house.
Laura was half afraid that she would not keep her promise, but at six o’clock she appeared. Jim fell upon her with a gleeful welcome, and she tried to answer gaily, but the effort with which she did it was evident, and earlier than usual Laura took the boy off to bed.
“Something is troubling Olga,” she whispered as she tucked him in, “and I’m going to try to find a way to help her.”
“You will,” he said confidently. “You’re the best ever for helping folks,” and he pulled her face down to give one of his rare kisses.
Laura, going back to the other room, drew the girl down beside her. “Now, child,” she said, her voice full of tenderest persuasion, “let us talk over your problems and find the way out.”
For a moment the old proud reserve held the girl, but it melted under the tender sympathy in the eyes looking into hers. She drew a long breath. “It seems somehow wrong to talk about it even to you,” she said. “Sonia is my sister.”