I wanted to come--and tell you
all about it--but I didn't dare. I never saw you kiss Austin but
once--you're so quiet when you're with him, Sylvia, and other people are
around--and it was--it was just like--_a prayer_. After seeing that, I
_couldn't_ come to you--with my story--unless _I had_ to--I felt as if it
would be just like throwing mud on a flower.
"Then, yesterday, after the work was done, Peter asked me to go to walk
with him. It was so late, when he and Austin got home, that I had
scarcely seen him. I was going upstairs, in the dark, and I didn't know
that he was anywhere near--it frightened me when he called. So--so I
slipped--and fell--all the way down. I knew, right away, that I was
hurt; but, of course, I didn't guess how much. I went to walk with him
just the same, because it seemed as if it--would feel good to be with
Peter--he's always been so--well, I can't explain--_so square_. And
while we were out, I began to feel sick--and now, of course, he'll never
be willing--to take me to walk--to be seen anywhere with me again! I
can't bear it! I mind--not having been square to him--more than anything
else--more than half-killing mother, even! Oh, Sylvia, tell them,
please, _quickly_! and have it over with--tell them, too, that it was my
own fault--don't forget that part! And then take me away with you, where
I won't see them--or any one else I know--and teach me to be good--even
if you can't help me to forget!"
* * * * *
Two hours later, when Edith was sleeping again, Mrs.
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