"Anne," she said, "Murray and I had a long talk about you the other day."
"Murray always talks--long." Anne was yawning.
"Please be serious, Anne. He wants to marry you."
"Marry me!" incredulously. "I thought it was you; or Ethel."
"Well, it isn't," wearily. "And it's a great opportunity--for you, Anne."
Amy had a sense of the futility of trying to explain.
"Anne, how can you? He's really paying you a great compliment."
"He didn't want to startle you. You're so young. Murray has extreme fineness of feeling."
Anne tilted her chin. "I don't see what he finds in me."
"You're young"--with a tinge of bitterness--"and he says you are beautiful."
Anne threw off the covers and set her bare feet on the floor. "Beautiful!" she scoffed, but went to the mirror. "I'm thin," she meditated, "but I've got nice hair."
"We all have nice hair," said Amy; "but you've got Ethel's complexion and my figure."
"I don't think I want to be loved for my complexion." Anne turned suddenly and faced her sister. "Or my figure. I'd rather be loved for my mind."
"Men don't love women for their minds," said Amy wearily. "You'll learn that when you have lived as long as I have. Get back into bed, Anne. You'll freeze."
But Anne, shivering in the cotton kimono, argued the question hotly: "I should think Murray would want to marry someone with congenial tastes. He hates everything that I like."
"He'll make an excellent husband. You ought to be happy to know that he--cares."
She began to cough--a racking cough that left her exhausted.
Anne, bending over her, said, "Why, Amy, are you sick?"
"Are you taking anything for your cough?"
Amy put her off. "I'll feel better in the morning, Anne. Don't worry." Again the cough tore her. Anne flew to Ethel.
"See what you can do for her. There is blood on her handkerchief! I am going to call a doctor."
The doctor, arriving, checked the cough. Later he told Anne that Amy must have a change and strengthening food.
"At once. She's in a very serious state. I've told her, but she won't listen."
In the days that followed Anne arraigned herself hotly. "I've been a selfish pig--eating up everything--and Amy needed it."
In this state of mind she fasted--and was famished.
Maxwell, noting her paleness, demanded, "What's the matter? Aren't you well?"