"And if I find that I can't be spared as well as you?"
Joan's eyes went to Mittie, with a look of grieved appeal. That look went home; and for a moment—only one moment—Mittie wavered. She knew how much more this meant to Joan than it could mean to herself. She knew that she had no right to put herself first, to snatch the joy from Joan. But the habit of self-indulgence was too strong.
"It is all Nonsense!"
"If you choose to stay at home, I shall go without you. It is all nonsense about 'can't'! You can go if you like."
Joan remained alone, thinking.
What could she say? Mittie, the spoilt younger sister, always had had her own way, and always insisted on having it. She would insist now, and would have it, as usual.
That Mittie would go was indeed a foregone conclusion, and Joan had known it from the first. The question was—could she go too? Would it be right to leave the old lady, depressed and suffering, all those hours—just for her own pleasure, even though it meant much more than mere pleasure?
The girls owed a great deal to Mrs. Wills. She was not rich, though she had a comfortable little home; and when she took in the two granddaughters, it meant a heavy pull on her purse. It meant, also, parting with a valued companion—a paid companion—whom she had had for years, and on whom she very much depended. This necessary step was taken, with the understanding that the two girls would do all in their power to supply her place. And Joan had done her best. Mittie seldom gave any thought to the matter.
In a general way, Joan would at once have agreed that Mittie should be the one to go, that she herself would be the one to stay behind.