"
"Thank you," said Prissie.
"You are happy in your new life, are you not, my dear child?"
"I am interested," said Priscilla in a low voice. Her eyes rested on
her shabby dress as she spoke. She laid one hand over the other. She
seemed to be weighing her words. "I am interested; sometimes I am
absorbed. My new life fills my heart; it crowds into all my thoughts.
I have no room for Aunt Raby-- no room for my little sisters.
Everything is new to me-- everything fresh and broad. There are some
trials, of course, and some unpleasantness; but, oh, the difference
between here and there! Here it is so narrow, there one cannot help
getting enlightenment, daily and hourly."
"Yes," said Mr. Hayes when Priscilla paused, "I expected you to say
something of this kind. I knew you could not but feel the immense, the
immeasurable change. But why do you speak in that complaining voice,
Priscilla?"
Prissies' eyes were raised to his.
"Because Aunt Raby is ill, and it is wicked of me to forget her. It is
mean and cowardly. I hate myself for it."
Mr. Hayes looked puzzled for a moment. Then his face cleared.
"My dear Prissie," he said, "I always knew there were depths of
morbidness in you, but I did not suppose that you would sound them so
quickly.
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