The Wife of the Candidate
Mrs. Eddington, looking up for the first time, met the other's dark gray eyes. The deep and quiet sympathy of their glance dispelled any lingering reluctance to laying bare her heart.
"We are sisters—twin sisters," she said, speaking rapidly and with an evident effort. "We adored each other, but we quarrelled. There is the whole story. We were both proud, and each refused to make the first advances, though both our hearts ached, I am sure. Think of it! We were all alone in the world, and yet we drifted apart. She went abroad and studied; I remained in this country and married. At long intervals I heard of her as she must have heard of me, but our paths did not cross. Our friends, our tastes, our environments, were all so different. The only thing we had in common was the memory of our dead parents and the affection for each other that still lived through all the pride and anger which tried to stifle it. If I had ever heard that she was unhappy or in trouble I would have written her at once, but the few reports that came to me represented her as living a full, rounded, brilliant,
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