"You ought to have called out--or closed it. In this family I
can't claim even my soul as my own!"

"Please, dear," begged Lucia, sitting up now and struggling to put
her arms round her sister, "you don't look on ME as an outsider,
do you? Why, I'm the only one in all the world who knows you as
you are--how sweet and gentle and noble you are. All the rest
think you're cold and cynical, and--"

"So I am," said Margaret reflectively, "except toward only you.
I'm grandmother over again, with what she'd call a rotten spot."

"That rotten spot's the real you," protested Lucia.

Margaret broke away from her and resumed her walk. "You'll see,"
said she, her face stern and bitter once more.

A maidservant descended the steps. "Madam Bowker has come,"
announced she, "and is asking for you, Miss Rita."

A look that could come only from a devil temper flashed into
Margaret's hazel eyes. "Tell her I'm out."

"She saw you from the window."

Margaret debated. Said Lucia, "When she comes so soon after lunch
she's always in a frightful mood. She comes then to make a row
because, without her after-lunch nap, she's hardly human and can
be more--more fiendish."