Then a queer sense of duty, of brother to sister, took the place of doubt.

She was his sister and she needed him now as never before, needed him now despite his self-admitted worthlessness.
"See here, Anne, I'm going to speak plainly," he blurted out, leaning forward.

"You must not see Brady Thorpe again.

If he comes here, you must refuse to receive him." Her eyes were very dark and lustreless against the increased pallor of her cheeks.

"He will not come here, George," she said, scarcely above a whisper.