The look made Queenie angrier than she had been before, for she interpreted it aright, and her pride rose up against it. “My father never cared for you,” she said. “It was only a fancy, which would never have existed at all if you had not tried to attract him.” “It is false!” Mrs. La Rue exclaimed, taking a step forward, with flashing eyes, before which even Queenie quailed. “It is false. I did _not_ try to attract him at first, but he noticed and talked to and flattered me until my head he turned and I thought all things possible. The wrong was on his side. I was not bad nor had a thought of badness in my heart, and you, Queenie, of all others, should not speak to me as you have done. Margery did not, and hers is the greater wrong.” “Then you have told Margery!” Reinette exclaimed, and before Mrs. La Rue could answer, Margery herself came to the door asking: “Did you call me, Queenie? I thought I heard my name.” “No, no,” Mrs. La Rue almost screamed, as she turned like a tigress upon Margery. “Go away, I tell you, go away. I am losing my senses, and with you both standing here, and Queenie talking to me as she has talked, I shall tell what I have sworn not to tell. Go away, Margery—go!” But Margery did not move except to advance a little farther into the room, where she stood, with a blanched cheek and wondering, frightened eyes, gazing first at her mother and then at Queenie, who stretched her arms toward her and, with quivering lips and a voice full of unutterable pathos and love, said: “You are my _sister_. Come to me.” But Margery did not move, and her face grew whiter and more death-like, as she whispered to her mother: “What does she mean? Have you told her? Does she know it all, and still call me _sister_?” “Hush, Margie. No, she does not know it all,” Mrs. La Rue replied; and, sinking into a chair and bowing her head upon her hands, Margery exclaimed: “Thank God for that! Oh, Queenie, I don’t know what you know or how you learned it; but if you love me, if you care for your own happiness, seek to know no more. Let the matter end here. If you believe I am your sister, love me as such; I shall be content with that.” She did not look up, but sat with her head bowed down as if with grief or shame. Queenie thought it the latter, and crossed the room to where Margery sat, and, kneeling beside her, wound both arms around her neck and said: “Margie, I know you are my father’s child, and I love you so dearly that this shall make no difference with me. You were not to blame, my darling. You had no part in the wrong; it was my father, may God forgive him, and this woman, who I am sorry to say is your mother, and whom I cannot forgive.”