For an instant the two
young women stood confronted, and a person who had seen them at that
moment might have taken them for enemies rather than friends. But any
such opposition could last but a few seconds. Verena replied, with a
tremor in her voice which was not that of passion, but of charity: "Do
you mean that I expected him, that I brought him? I never in my life was
more surprised at anything than when I saw him there."
"Hasn't he the delicacy of one of his own slave-drivers? Doesn't he know
you loathe him?"
Verena looked at her friend with a degree of majesty which, with her,
was rare. "I don't loathe him--I only dislike his opinions."
"Dislike! Oh, misery!" And Olive turned away to the open window, leaning
her forehead against the lifted sash.
Verena hesitated, then went to her, passing her arm round her. "Don't
scold me! help me--help me!" she murmured.
Olive gave her a sidelong look; then, catching her up and facing her
again--"Will you come away, now, by the next train?"
"Flee from him again, as I did in New York? No, no, Olive Chancellor,
that's not the way," Verena went on, reasoningly, as if all the wisdom
of the ages were seated on her lips. "Then how can we leave Miss
Birdseye, in her state? We must stay here--we must fight it out here."
"Why not be honest, if you have been false--really honest, not only half
so? Why not tell him plainly that you love him?"
"Love him, Olive? why, I scarcely know him.
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