“Oh, yes—it lasts,” cried Lottie: “other things come and go. You suppose you want something more—and then trouble comes, and you remember that there is nobody so near. Who could be so near? I know all you like and what is best for you, and we have always been together. Law, I have had things to make me unhappy—and I have no home, no place to live in.”
“I thought,” said Law, severely, “that they were very kind to you here.”
“Kind! it is more than that,” cried Lottie, her hot eyes moistening. “They are like—I do not know what they are like—like nothing but themselves; but I do not belong to them. What right have I to be here? and oh, Law, you don’t know——. To walk about here again—to live, where one has almost died—to see the same things—the place—where it all happened——”
Lottie was stopped by the gasp of weeping that came into her throat. She ended with a low cry of passionate pain. “I must go somewhere. I cannot stay here. We will go together, and work together; and some time, perhaps—some time—we shall not be unhappy, Law.”
“I am not unhappy now,” said the young man. “I don’t know why you should be so dismal. Many a fellow would give his ears to be in my place. But you—that’s quite a different thing. A man can go to many a place where he can’t drag his sister after him. Besides, you’ve got no outfit,” cried Law, delighted to find so simple a reason, “and no money to get one. Old Ashford has been awfully kind; but I don’t think it would be nice to draw him for an outfit for you. It wouldn’t be kind,” said Law, with a grin, “it would be like the engineer fellow in Shakespeare—burst with his own boiler. You know that would never do.”
“A woman does not need an outfit, as a man does,” said Lottie; “a woman can put up with anything. If you go away, what is to become of me? When you are young, whatever you may have had to make you unhappy, you cannot die when you please. That would be the easiest way of all—but it is not possible; you cannot die when you please.”
“Die—who wants to die?” said Law. “Don’t you know it’s wicked to talk so. Why, there’s your singing. You’ll be able to make a great deal more money than I ever shall; and of course you may come over starring to Australia when you’re a great singer; but it would be ruin to you now to go there. Don’t be carried away by it because I’m lucky just now, because it’s my turn,” he said; “everybody wants to hold on by a fellow when he’s in luck—but it is really you who are the lucky one of the family.”
“My voice is gone,” said Lottie, “my home is gone. I have nothing in the world but you. All I used to have a little hope in is over. There are only two of us in the world, brother and sister. What can I do but go with you? I have nobody but you.”
“Oh, that’s bosh,” said Law, getting up from his seat in impatience. “I don’t believe a word they say about your voice. You’ll see it’ll soon come back if you give it a chance; and as for having nobody but me, I never knew a girl that had so many friends—there’s these old Temples, and heaps of people; and it seems to me you may marry whoever you like all round. A girl has no right to turn up her nose at that. Besides, what made old Ashford so kind to me? You don’t find men doing that sort of thing for nothing in this world. I always think it’s kindest to speak out plain,” said Law, reddening, however, with a sense of cruelty, “not to take you in with pretending. Look here, Lottie. I can’t take you with me. I have got no more than I shall want for myself, and I may have to knock about a great deal there before I get anything. And to tell the truth,” said Law, reddening still more, “if I was to take a woman with me, it would be more natural to take—someone else. A fellow expects to marry, to make himself comfortable when he gets out there. Now you can’t do that if you have a sister always dragging after you. I’ve told you this before, Lottie—you know I have. I don’t want to hurt your feelings when you’ve been ill—but what can a fellow do? To say what you mean once for all, that is the best for both you and me.”
Law made his exit abruptly when he had given forth this confession. He could say what was necessary boldly enough, but he did not like to face his sister’s disappointment. It was a comfort to him to meet Mr. Ashford at the door.