She wrung her hands
together with a despairing gesture.
"Molly, Molly," she gasped, "don't torture me! How can I help it? How can
I help it? I shall have to send him away."
"Oh, poor darling!" Molly said. "Poor, poor darling!"
And she gathered her sister into her arms, pressing her close to her
heart with a passionate fondness of which only a few knew her to be
capable. There was only a year between them, and Molly had always been
the leading spirit, protector and comforter by turns.
Even as she soothed and hushed Phyllis into calmness her quick brain was
at work upon the situation. There must be a way of escape somewhere. Of
that she was convinced. There always was a way of escape. But for the
time at least it baffled her. Her own acquaintance with Wyverton was very
slight. She wished ardently that she knew what manner of man he was at
heart.
Upon one point at least she was firmly determined. This monstrous
sacrifice must not take place, even were it to ensure the whole family
welfare. The life they lived was desperately difficult, but Phyllis must
not be allowed to ruin her own life's happiness and another's also to
ease the burden.
But what a pity it seemed! What a pity! Why in wonder was Fate so
perverse? Molly thought. Such a brilliant chance offered to herself
would have turned the whole world into a gilded dreamland. For she was
wholly heart-free.
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