Until this moment they had both continued standing.
Now Sally made a little motion toward the invalid’s chair which Miss Patricia had removed from their sitting-room to bestow upon her patient.
“Suppose we both sit down,” she suggested, taking the only other chair at the same instant.
“There is something else I wish to talk to you about if you feel you are strong enough to hear. It may prove to be good news. I suppose it seems a strange coincidence, although some people would call it an act of Providence, but I am sure I don’t understand such things. It is just barely possible your sister Yvonne Fleury was not killed. When we were crossing to France from the United States we met a girl on shipboard named Yvonne Fleury, whose home, the Château Yvonne, had been destroyed in the early part of the war. As she believed her brother had been killed at the front, she had gone to New York City, where she had been living with some friends for several years. She told the entire family tragedy to our chaperon, Mrs. Burton, who afterwards told the story to us, hoping we might be especially kind to Yvonne because of her unhappiness. The other girls have been, but Yvonne and I do not like each other and she has been very disagreeable to me. Still, if she turns out to be your sister, it does not matter. Under the circumstances I suppose I ought to say nothing against her.
“I have been thinking of this for some time, ever since you told me your name, but of course there may be nothing in it. I only thought if you might like to meet this Yvonne Fleury–you see she came here to the farm and is living with us–I will speak first to Aunt Patricia and together you can decide.”
In reality Sally was not so unsympathetic or so childish as at present her words and manner suggested. During her long speech she had been watching the young officer narrowly. She had arrived at her present conclusion by putting certain facts together in a practical and commonsense fashion. There was more than a possibility that she might be wrong, so there was no reason for working oneself up into a state of hysteria or of heroics. Moreover, Sally had been entirely frank. She understood that the French officer would be overjoyed if Yvonne should prove to be his sister, but Sally herself would have felt no enthusiasm over the same discovery. As a matter of fact, she had no particular interest in Yvonne’s opportunity for happiness through her aid.
She was worried, however, because her former patient suddenly appeared so white and shaken by her words, when only a few moments before he had looked so remarkably well.
Sally moved slowly backwards toward the door.
“I’ll go and find Aunt Patricia; perhaps I should have spoken to her first of my idea. Then after you have talked with her if you would like me to find Yvonne and ask her to come to you—”
With these words, having managed to reach the half closed door, Sally disappeared.