Again the stab.  Emmy’s nerve began to give way.  For the first time came the wild notion of facing Zora with the whole disastrous story.  She dismissed it as crazy.

“I tell you things can’t be altered.”

“But why?  I can’t imagine you so monstrous.  Give me your confidence, darling.”

“There’s nothing to give.”

“I’m sure I could put things right for you at once if I knew what was wrong.  If it’s anything to do with Septimus,” she added in her unwisdom and with a charming proprietary smile, “why, I can make him do whatever I like.”

“Even if we had quarreled,” cried Emmy, losing control of her prudence, “do you suppose I would let you bring him back to me?”

“But why not?”

“Have you been so blind all this time as not to see?”

Emmy knew her words were vain and dangerous, but the attitude of her sister, calm and confident, assuming her air of gracious patronage, irritated her beyond endurance.  Zora’s smile deepened into indulgent laughter.

“My dearest Emmy, you don’t mean to say that it’s jealousy of me?  But it’s too ridiculous.  Do you suppose I’ve ever thought of Septimus in that way?”

“You’ve thought of him just as you used to think of the bob-tailed sheep dog we had when we were children.”

“Well, dear, you were never jealous of my attachment to Bobbie or Bobbie’s devotion to me,” said Zora, smilingly logical.  “Come, dear, I knew there was only some silly nonsense at the bottom of this.  Look.  I’ll resign every right I have in poor Septimus.”

Emmy rose.  “If you call him ‘poor Septimus’ and speak of him in that tone, you’ll drive me mad.  It’s you that are wicked and heartless and selfish.”

“I?” cried Zora, aghast.

“Yes, you.  You accept the love and adoration of the noblest gentleman that God ever put into the world, and you treat him and talk of him as if he were a creature of no account.  If you were worthy of being loved by him, I shouldn’t he jealous.  But you’re not.  You’ve been so wrapped up in your own magnificence that you’ve not even condescended to notice that he loved you.  And even now, when I tell you, you laugh, as if it were preposterous that ‘poor Septimus’ could ever dare to love you.  You drive me mad.”

Zora drew herself up angrily.  To make allowances for a silly girl’s jealousy was one thing; it was another to be accused in this vehement fashion.  Conscious of her innocence, she said: 

“Your attack on me is entirely unjustifiable, Emmy.  I have done nothing.”

“That’s why,” retorted Emmy quickly.  “You’ve done nothing.  Men are sacrificing their lives and fortunes for you, and you do nothing.”

“Lives and fortunes?  What do you mean?”