man to yourself. Your husband won't be faithful to you."
"I could never live as you do," said Teresa. "You've given up too much. … I must have my life—somehow"
Nina studied her sister's brooding, vivid face.
"How like you are to father! You have much more of the Southern in you than I. You're made to be happier and unhappier than I am. I'm not unhappy."
"No—but I must be, if I'm not happy," said Teresa quickly. "What is life worth, if it's only to be got through, a matter of routine and duty, and always sacrificing yourself for other people? They don't thank you for it! I would rather die than live that way! I will be happy, somehow."
"Poor child," said Nina suddenly. "You're not happy now."
"No, but I shall be—I shall be!"
And she got up and moved away, to end the conversation.
She disliked having expressed even so much of her feeling. She disliked seeming unhappy. That was to confess failure, and she was by no means ready to confess it. She had a passionate conviction that things must still come right for her, somehow, and the impossibility of resigning herself, ever, to a grey lot like Nina's, was absolutely clear to her. She walked away now
