The fact that Lucy had lost her affection for Kara, who had been like a devoted older sister, was more serious.
The door stood open so that Tory entered the wide hall of the old house without ringing the bell. She had come often enough during the past winter and spring to be a privileged character.
At the bottom of the long flight of stairs she paused a moment. Warm and out of breath, she did not wish Kara to guess at her rebellious mood when she arrived at the little room up under the eaves.
“You won’t find Kara upstairs in her old room. Let me show you where she is,” a voice called, as Tory placed her foot on the first stair.
The big room had been a back parlor in the days when the Gray House had been the residence of a prosperous farmer. This was before the village of Westhaven had drawn so close to it.
By the window in a wheeled chair sat a small figure crouched so low that had she not known it could be no one else, Tory would scarcely have recognized her.
Since her night and Kara’s together on the hillside only a week had gone by. Could one week have altered Kara’s appearance and her nature?
Her impulse to go toward the figure and gather her in her arms, Tory carefully repressed.
Kara’s expression, as she raised her eyes at her approach, was almost forbidding.
Tory also repressed the exclamation that rose to her lips.