I was piling my gloves into a box when there came a soft knock at the door. Alec came in, in his red and grey bath-towel bath-robe.
"Not in bed yet?" he said gently, and came over and sat down near me on the floor with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up almost to his chin and his arms clasped about them. We sat there for a moment silently, and I grimly folded gloves. Then, "Good stuff, Bobbie," he said finally—and oh, so kindly—"Good nerve."
I turned and looked straight at him.
"No, Alec," I said, "there isn't anything good about it. It's horrid feelings and hate that make me go."
He looked away from me as he always does when he disapproves, but he put his hand on my shoulder and I was grateful for that touch.
I turned on him frantically and burst out, "Alec Vars, you are the only one in this whole house I love—you and Father," I amended, for we all adore Father. "You're the only one who is kind or thoughtful. I've tried to do my duty in this place by you and the others, but I guess I haven't succeeded. Now I'm going away and we'll see how the twins enjoy a dose of Aunt Sarah." I paused, then added, "Look here, Alec, don't let Ruth go out to the Country Club. She is pretty and the older men—why, your friends talk to her and make her vain and hold her on the arms of their chairs. Don't let her go. And the twins—I haven't told on them yet—but they're smoking! They're dead scared for fear I'll tell Father, and I said that I should if I caught them at it again."
"Good Bobbie, you'd keep us straight if you could, wouldn't you?"
"No, I wouldn't," I flared back. "It's hate I feel and—"
Alec put his hand over my mouth.