Soon they were talking naturally.
Weeks passed, and the memory of that day dropped swiftly back behind them.

And there came a night when Joe, close by her side, had been talking slowly for some time, his voice husky, strained and low, and she had been sitting very still.

She turned at last with a quick little smile, said: "Yes, Joe, I'll--marry you--and--oh, I'm very happy! Please go now, dear! Please go--go!" And when he had gone she still sat very still.
From that night the name of her sister was not spoken between them--was not spoken for nearly two years.
She grew used to being held in Joe's arms, to his kisses and to his voice that had changed, to the things he said and the way his eyes looked into hers.

That hunger, it was always there, and growing, always growing! The feeling she'd never had before, that--"We're to be parts of one another!"-- deepened, thrilled her with its depth, dazzled and confused her mind.
One day she went to Amy's room, and slowly began looking over the clothes.

From the closet and the drawers, in a careful, tender way she took the shimmering little gowns and dainty hats and slippers, silk stockings, filmy night-gowns--and packed them into boxes.