"How funny she is to tell me all this!"
But she felt growing within her a respect for her strange, big sister; it was mocking, certainly, but infinitely tender, and it made her rub her cheek cajolingly against the sisterly palm. . . .
Annette had come to the point in her narrative at which the attraction of her unknown sister had taken possession of her, despite her resistance, the point at which she had seen Sylvie for the first time. But here frankness could not conquer the emotion of her heart. She tried to go on, stopped, gave it up, and said:
"I can't. . . ."
There was silence. Sylvie was smiling. She stood up, put her face close to her sister's, and, pinching her chin, she whispered very low:
"You are a great lover."
"I!" protested Annette, thoroughly confused.
Sylvie had risen from the bench, and, standing in front of her sister, she pressed Annette's head against her body and said:
"Poor . . . poor Annette! . . ."