Rhoda Knox, don't let her get up
here."

"How can I keep her out?" asked Esther. "You'll have to see her. I can't
live down there alone with her. I couldn't make her happy."

A satirical light shivered across grandmother's eyes.

"Where is your husband?" she inquired. "Here?"

"Here?" repeated Esther. "In this house?"

"Yes."

"He isn't coming here. It would be very painful for him."

The time had been when grandmother, newer to life, would have asked,
"Why?" But she knew Esther minutely now; all her turns of speech and
habits of thought were as a tale long told. Once it had been a mildly
fascinating game to see through what Esther said to what she really
meant. It was easy, once you had the clue, too easy, all certainties,
with none of the hazards of a game. Esther, she knew, lived with a
lovely ideal of herself. The imaginary Esther was all sympathy; she was
even self-sacrificing. No shining quality lay in the shop window of the
world's praise but the real Esther snatched it and adorned herself with
it. The Esther that was talked in the language of the Esther that ought
to be. If she didn't want to see you, she told you it would be
inconvenient for you to come. If she wanted to tell you somebody had
praised the rose of her cheek, she told you she was so touched by
everybody's goodness in loving to give pleasure; then she proved her
point by naive repetition of the pretty speech. Sometimes she even, in
the humility of the other Esther, deprecated the flattery as insincere;
but not before she had told you what it was.

"I haven't seen her since--I haven't seen her for years," she said. "She
wasn't happy with me then. She'll be much less likely to be now."

"Older," said grandmother. "More difficult. Keep her out of here."

It seemed to Esther there was no sympathy for her in the world, even if
she got drum and fife and went out to beat it up. One empty victory she
had achieved: grandmother had at least spoken to her. Sometimes she
turned her face to the wall and lay there, not even a ruffle quivering.
Esther moved away, but Rhoda Knox was beforehand with her. Rhoda held a
letter.

"Mrs. Blake, could you take this down?" she asked, in a faultless
manner, and yet implacably. "And let it go out when somebody is going?"

Esther accepted the letter helplessly. She knew how Rhoda sat planning
to get her errands done. Yet there was never any reason why you should
not do them. She ran downstairs carrying the lette