it, could it be possible that this should be done for her sister's
sake?

The man pursued his advantage relentlessly. "You are a fine woman,
ma'am, if you'll allow me to say so,--a remarkably fine woman. But you
are getting on in life, as we all are. This child will support you,
ma'am, instead of your supporting her. Support you, do I say? Why,
you'll be rolling in wealth in a few years! You spoke of a sister,
ma'am. Is she in good health, may I ask?" His quick eye had spied the
white-curtained bed through the vine-clad window, and his ear had
caught the tender tone of her voice when she said, "my sister."

"My sister is an invalid," said Miss Vesta, coldly.

"Another point!" exclaimed the impresario. "You will be able to have
every luxury for your sister,--wines, fruits, travelling, the best
medical aid the country affords. You are the--a--the steward, I may
say, ma'am,"--with subtle intuition, the man assumed a tone of moral
loftiness, as if calling Miss Vesta to account for all delinquencies,
past and future,--"the steward, or even the stewardess, of this great
treasure. It means everything for you and her, and for your invalid
sister as well. Think of it, think of it well! I am so confident of
your answer that I can well afford to wait a little. Take a few
minutes, ma'am, and think it over."

He leaned against the house in an easy attitude, with his hands in his
pockets, and his mouth pursed up for a whistle. He did not feel as
confident as he looked, perhaps, but Miss Vesta did not know that. She
also leaned against the house, her head resting among the vines that
screened Miss Rejoice's window, and thought intensely. What was right?