One more application of Helen’s knuckles and treble was convinced.
“That time it was a knock,” she conceded.
There was a hurrying and scurrying, a sound of altercation on the stairs leading from the basement to the front hall.
“Why do you try to go first? You know perfectly well I can go faster than you can, and here you have started up the steps and I can’t get by. You fat——”
“If you can go so much faster, why didn’t you start up the steps first?” panted the contralto.
“Don’t talk or you’ll never get up the steps! Save your wind for climbing.”
The bulky form of Miss Louise hove in sight and over her shoulder the girls could see the stern countenance of her long, slim sister. How could two such different looking persons be born of one mother? Miss Louise was all breadth and no height; Miss Ella, all height and no breadth. Miss Louise was dark of complexion, with coal-black hair streaked with grey; Miss Ella was a strawberry blonde with sandy hair streaked with grey. Age that brought the grey hair seemed about the only thing they had in common, except, of course, the estate of Grantly. That had been willed to them by their father with a grim humor, as he must have been well aware of their idiosyncrasies. They were to hold the property together with no division, the one who survived to inherit the whole.
“Well!” said Miss Ella over the shoulder of her sister, who refused to give her right of way but who was silenced for the moment by shortness of breath. “Why did you come today when you wrote you were coming to-morrow?”
“I did not write I was coming tomorrow,” said Douglas, smiling in spite of herself.
“There! What did I tell you?” panted Miss Louise. “You said Tuesday, didn’t you, honey?” with ingratiating sweetness.