“Don’t touch me,” she cried. “I hate you!” She put her fists to her temples and, her eyes closed, rocked herself to and fro. “Don’t you touch me. Go away from me; go away from me. I hate you; I hate you all. I hate this house, I hate this life. You are all killing me. Oh, my God, if I could only die!”

She flung herself full length upon the couch, face downward. Her sobs shook her from head to foot.

Page knelt at her side, an arm about her shoulder, but to all her sister’s consolations Laura, her voice muffled in her folded arms, only cried:

“Let me alone, let me alone. Don’t touch me.”

For a time Page tried to make herself heard; then, after a moment’s reflection, she got up and drew out the pin in Laura’s hat. She took off the hat, loosened the scarf around Laura’s neck, and then deftly, silently, while her sister lay inert and sobbing beneath her hands, removed the stiff, tight riding-habit. She brought a towel dipped in cold water from the adjoining room and bathed Laura’s face and hands.