excitable.

Life had not spoiled Rachel. Lady Susan Gresley had done her best to
spoil Hester. The one had lived the unprotected life, and showed it in
her bearing. The other had lived the sheltered life, and bore its mark
upon her pure forehead and youthful face.

"I cannot bear it," said Hester at last. "I think and think, and I can't
think of anything. I would give my life for you, and you will hardly let
me give you £3 10_s._ 6_d._ That is all it cost. It is only frieze, that
common red frieze, and the lining is only rabbit." A last tear fell at
the word rabbit. "I wanted to get you a velvet one, just the same as my
new one, lined with chinchilla, but I knew it would only make you
miserable. I wish," looking vindictively at the cloak--"I wish rabbits
had never been born."

Rachel laughed. Hester was evidently recovering.

"Mr. Scarlett was saying last night that no one can help any one,"
continued Hester, turning her white, exhausted face to her friend. "He
said that we are always so placed that we can only look on. And I told
him that could not be true, but, oh, in my heart, Rachel, I have felt it
was true all these long, long five years since you have lived here."

Rachel came and stood beside her at the little window. There was just
room for them between the type-writer and the bed.

Far below, Hester's brougham was pacing up and down.

"Then are love and sympathy nothing?" she said. "Those are the real