Poor Margaret! Though it was not the first time that Grace had accused her of swerving in her allegiance to her, it was the first time such an accusation had been made on such serious grounds.
Very real tears stood in her soft eyes as she held out her hand to her sister and said—
"What do you wish me to do? What can I do to please you?"
"To please me! Nothing; only for your own sake, Margaret, for the sake of being a little consistent, you need not gush over her, and pretend to like her, before you know whether she is for us or against us."
She turned away, and began to change her dress, her head held high, not yet forgiving. Margaret felt as though the luxury of tears would be a relief, but she thought she would make one more effort to win back her sister's cordiality.
"I am sure," she began, while her lip quivered nervously, "I mean nothing. I was sorry for her, and showed I felt sorry, but I think I shall hate her if her coming is to make differences between us."
"It need not make any difference if you are only true to me," said Grace, firmly. "Leave her alone and watch me, and you can do what I do."
"I never can," pleaded Margaret. "And oh! Grace, sometimes, when you are disdainful, I feel as if I must go and console. You don't know how hard it is for people when you draw yourself up and say something cutting. I always feel so sorry for whoever it is."
"You are a little goose," said Grace melting a little at this tribute to her power, "you exaggerate everything about me."
But she did not think so.