"I
sent her the new address when I came here, but she hasn't been yet."
"Why don't you go to her?"
"No! I've broken with that world. I can't make calls in Bryanston
Square--or anywhere else. That's all over."
"Nonsense!"
"It isn't nonsense!" exclaimed Olga, flushing angrily. "Why do you
come to interfere with me? What right have you, Irene? I'm old
enough to live as I please. I don't come to criticise your life!"
Irene was startled into silence for a moment. She met her cousin's
look, and so gravely, so kindly, that Olga turned away in shame.
"You and I used to be friends, and to have confidence in each
other," resumed Irene. "Why can't that come over again? Couldn't you
tell me what it all means, dear?"
The other shook her head, keeping her eyes averted.
"My first reason for coming," Irene pursued, "was to talk to you
about your mother. Do you know that she is very far from well? My
father speaks very seriously of her state of health. Something is
weighing on her mind, as anyone can see, and we think it can only be
_you_--your strange life, and your neglect of her."
Olga shook her head.
"You're mistaken, I know you are."
"You know? Then can you tell us how to be of use to her? To speak
plainly, my father fears the worst, if something isn't done."
With elbow on knee, and chin in hand, Olga sat brooding. She had a
dishevelled, wild appearance; her cheeks were hollow, her eyes and
lips expressed a reckless mood.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207