"
"I wish you would let me undress you. I have often helped Aunt Raby to
go to bed when she was very tired. Come, Rose, don't turn away from
me. Why should you?"
"Priscilla, you are the last person in the world who ought to be kind
to me just now; you don't know, you can never, never guess, what I did
to you."
"Yes, I can partly guess, but I don't want to think of it."
"Listen, Prissie: when I stole that money, I hoped people would accuse
you of the theft."
Prissie's eyes filled with tears. "It was a dreadful thing to do," she
said faintly.
"Oh, I knew you could never forgive me."
"I do forgive you."
"What! aren't you angry? Aren't you frantic with rage and passion?"
"I don't wish to think of myself at all: I want to think of you. You
are the one to be pitied."
"I? Who could pity me?"
"Well, Rosalind, I do," answered Priscilla in a slow voice; "you have
sunk so low, you have done such a dreadful thing, the kind of thing
that the angels in heaven would grieve over."
"Oh, please don't talk to me of them."
"And then, Rosalind," continued Prissie, "you look so unlike a girl
who would do this sort of thing. I have a little sister at home-- a
dear, little innocent sister, and her eyes are blue like yours, and
she is fair, too, as you are fair.
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