“It’s all very well for you to pose, miss,” Laura went on; “to pose as injured innocence. But you understand very well what I mean. If you don’t love me, at least I shall not allow you to flout me⁠—deliberately, defiantly. And it does seem strange,” she added, her voice beginning to break, “that when we two are all alone in the world, when there’s no father or mother⁠—and you are all I have, and when I love you as I do, that there might be on your part⁠—a little consideration⁠—when I only want to be loved for my own sake, and not⁠—and not⁠—when I want to be, oh, loved⁠—loved⁠—loved⁠—”

The two sisters were in each other’s arms by now, and Page was crying no less than Laura.

“Oh, little sister,” exclaimed Laura, “I know you love me. I know you do. I didn’t mean to say that. You must forgive me and be very kind to me these days. I know I’m cross, but sometimes these days I’m so excited and nervous I can’t help it, and you must try to bear with me. Hark, there’s the bell.”