"Silvie! Do you imagine he'd do a thing like that—not loving her!"
"I don't know," said Silvette coolly; "he's a dear boy, and nice to us, but I don't credit him with superhuman qualities.... And she inherits millions."
"It isn't in him to do it.... And there are plenty of his own sort who would be glad enough——"
"Why do you become so animated, Di? Have you noticed any particular strength of character in Jim Edgerton?"
"Yes.... He is as true as steel, underneath the amiable exterior of a drifter and dilettante.... He has ideals.... I am not one of them—I know that."
"Do you care particularly?"
"No.... I don't know whether I do or not.... I never seem to know what to say to him these days. We talk together like two men. I'd like to know what he thinks about me—the kind of woman I am, compared to others in his own set.... I'd like to know what he thinks about my gambling and cocktails and cigarettes, which you and I have got to stop! What he really thinks of our position in this house—in the world! I don't believe he thinks much of it."
"Does his position differ from ours?" asked Silvette gently; "why are you so excited, little sister?"
"I'm not excited.... Things—various matters have occurred to me—recently; and I've made up my mind that I don't like to see him here. This is no place for him, no position. He is capable of doing better things, more important things, nobler things. He slips into a life like this too easily; he is too easily reconciled, too quickly content."
Silvette seated herself on a rocking chair and, leaning back, sat rocking and inspecting her sister, who stood by the bed, her brown locks clustering against her cheeks.