"Oh, what do I care for my words? I am too wretched, too miserable! Don't you know what is going to happen?"
"No; what? Do speak."
"Gavon is going away, perhaps to be killed. He—is going to South Africa on Saturday week."
"Then, Kitty," replied Mollie, "are all these tears—is all this awful misery—on account of Gavon?"
Kitty struggled out of her sister's embrace.
"And why shouldn't it be?" she asked. "Have I not loved him for years? Oh, I don't mind saying it. Did I ever care for any other man? I could have married long ago, but I would not. I never cared for any one but Gavon all my days. All my hopes were centred on him, and he—O Mollie, yes, it is true—he did like me until you came."
Mollie felt a crimson flood rush to her face; she also felt a choking sensation round her heart. So this was the secret of Kitty's misery! She was silent for a moment, too absolutely astonished to speak. Then she said in a voice which was stern for her,—
"Dry your tears. Sit down, please. We must talk this matter out."
But Kitty's only response was a fresh burst of weeping.
"She is hysterical; I can do nothing with her until she gets over this attack," thought Mollie. She pushed her sister towards a chair, and said gravely, "If you will not listen to me now, we will defer our conversation. I am going to bed."