Bunner Sisters

AnnEliza, when they met, was unable to detect whether the emotion

graduallyperceptible. She saw that he was beginning to look at her sisteras he had looked at her on that momentous afternoon: she evendiscerned a secret significance in the turn of his

little shop almost ceased, and oneSaturday morning Mr. Ramy proposed that the sisters sho

in Evelina's eye and her r

be happy to."She was pained by the perfunctory phrase with which Eve

rself than to them. "It's dreadfully hot and I've got a kinderh

st."*** A summary of Part I of "Bunner Siste

rest," Ann El

netfor the occasion, a bonnet, Ann Eliza thought, almost too youthfulin shape and colour. It was the first time it had ever

ts solitude; it seemed to distill the triple essence of lonelinessin which all her after-life was to be lived. No purchasers came

or's fate that at suchmoments she seemed to be living two lives, her own and Evelina's;and her private longings shrank into silence at the sight of theother's hungry bliss. But it was evident that Evelina, neveracutely alive to t

aveto. Seems to me it's pretty plain you have.""Well, I don't know. I don't know HOW I feel--it's all so queer. I almost think I'd like to scream.""I guess you're tired.""No, I ain't. It's not that. But it all happened sosuddenly

course Iwasn't exactly surprised--I've known right along he was going tosooner or later--on'y somehow I didn't think of its happen

ve tothink it over; but I guess he knows. Oh, Ann Eliza,

ained her voice she had a tale to tellwhich carried their vigil far into the night. Not a syllable, nota glance or gesture of Ramy's, was the elder sister sp

the embarrassedadjustment of their new

inaand her suitor longer alone in the back room. Later on, when shetried to remember the details of those first days, few came bac

ssed her under that tree atthe corner, away from the lamp-post," Ann Eliza said to herself,with sudden insight into unconjectured things. On Sundays theyusually we

f I was you Iwouldn't want to be very great friends with Mrs. Hochmuller."Evelina glanced at her compassionately. "I guess if you wasme you'd want to do everything you could to please the man youloved. It's lucky," she added with glacial irony, "that I'm nottoo grand for Herman's friends.""Oh," Ann El

r sister's scheme of life. ToAnn Eliza's idolatrous acceptance of the cruelties of fate thisexclusion seemed both natural and just; but it caused her the mostlive

. Evelinawould "run in" daily from the clock-maker's; they would doubtlesstake supper with her on Sundays. But already Ann Eliza guessedwith what growing perfunctoriness her sister would fulfillthese obligations; she even foresaw the day when,

oll around the Square. Ann Eliza saw at once that something ha

ueer? He wants to get married rightoff--this very next week.""Next week?""Yes. So's we can move out to St. Louis right away.""Him and you--move out to St. Louis?""Well, I don't know as it would be natural fo

," said Ann Eliz

. It's from a big firm outthere--the Tiff'ny of St. Louis, he says it is--offering him aplace in their clock-department. Seems they heart of him througha German friend of his that's settled out there. It's a splend

e to go?" came at

s, would you?""No--no. I on'y meant--has it got to be so soon?""Ri

, already, inthe inner and deeper sense, and was soon to vanish in even itsoutward nearness, its surface-communion of voice and eye. At thatmoment even the thought of Evelina's happiness refused her itsconsolatory ray; or its light, if she

s her grief would have mastered her; but the needs of theshop and the bac

he and Ann Eliza werebending one evening over the breadths of pearl-grey cashmere whichin spite of the dress-

t his affianced at the door. It generallymeant that Evelina had something disturbing t

and her headbent over her sewing, started as Eve

a' put into her wedding ring--and her husband, he crep' upbehind her that way jest for a joke, and frightened herinto a fit, and when she come to she was a raving maniac, and hadto be taken to Bl

nd as the lamp-light fellon her face A

f soul-probing scrutiny. "I guess Mr. Ramy lugs you round thatS

ves. I'll pin'em together." She drew a cluster of pins from her mouth, in whichshe seemed to secrete them as squirrels stow away nuts. "There,"she said, rolling up her work, "you go right away to bed, MissEvelina, and we'll set up a little later to-morrow night. I guessyou're a mite nervous, ain't you? I know when my turn comes I'llbe scared to death."Wi

put off?""Our getting married. He can't take me to St. Louis. Heain't got money eno

f cashmere and began tosmooth it out. "

it. He'll have to go alone.""But there's your money--have you forgotten that? The hundreddollars in the bank."Evelina made an impatient movement. "Of course I ain'tforgotten it. On'y it ain't enough. It would all have to go intobuying furniture, and if he was took sick and lost his place againwe wouldn't have a cent left. He says he's got to lay by anotherhundred dollars before he'll be willing to take me out there."For a while Ann Eliza pondered this s

the sound of Evelina'sweeping came to Ann Eliza in the darkness, but she lay motionlesson her own side o

ck which had played so prominent a part intheir lives. Evelina's sobs still stirred t

sters met, and Ann Eliza'scourage fail

bed and put out

t.""Oh, I can't bear it, I ca

. "Don't, don't," sherepeated. "If you tak

o you. On'y I didn't want to