“But that is not all,” said Mrs Fortescue, her voice dropping. “I—and you must know it—I love you both.”
Florence’s fine dark eyes were opened to their fullest extent. Brenda looked very gently at the little woman with the dyed hair. Neither said a word. Mrs Fortescue sprang to her feet.
“We will go into the drawing-room now,” she said. “You will tell me when you are sleepy and want to go to bed; would you like a game of cut-throat bridge first?”
The girls said they would like a game of bridge, and cards were produced. They played for about an hour, Mrs Fortescue invariably holding the best hand and the girls laughing good-humouredly at her luck. They played for love, not money. Mrs Fortescue thought the game uninteresting.
It was between ten and eleven when the sisters went up to their room. They said good-night to Mrs Fortescue on the landing.
They reached the comfortable bedroom where they had slept during the holidays for so many long years, and looked around them.
Florence suddenly said—
“Brenda, what should I do without you!” and Brenda flew to Florence, flung her arms round her neck and burst into tears.
“Why, what is it?” said the younger and taller sister of the two.
“I don’t know,” said Brenda.