drawing-room of yours, you have only to say so and we will fix a day. . . .”
Adolphine had listened gasping, unable to believe her ears. Had Constance gone mad? She stood up, shaking all over, while Constance, with apparent composure, continued to fold her laces:
“You’re a deceitful creature!” she hissed, furious, so deeply wounded in every detail of her vanity that she could no longer control herself.
“Why?” asked Constance, calmly. “Perhaps I was, for months, with a view to winning your affection; and that was why I spent myself in praises admiring Floortje’s trousseau. But now that I know that you love me so well, now that we have had a good, sisterly talk, now that we have given each other our advice and our opinion, I see no further need for being deceitful and I too prefer to express my sisterly feelings with the frankest sincerity.”
“Do you mean to say you didn’t like Floortje’s trousseau?” asked Adolphine, raging.
But Constance mastered her quivering nerves:
“Adolphine,” she said, coldly, “please let us end this conversation. It can’t matter to you in the least whether I, your despised sister, like or dislike anything in or about you. Spiteful, hateful words have been spoken between us; and we have seen into each other’s souls. You never had any affection for me, nor any indulgence nor mercy, whereas I believed that you had and tried to find a sister in you. I failed; and that is all. There is nothing more. We will end this conversation, if you please; and,
