“Lucy, my brother is home and I borrowed the cash from him. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers.
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