When Mary came to this part in her story, I could understand what Walter had meant by calling Mary stern. As she said the words, telling mother all about it, she did look stern.
"Well, not exactly a—present, perhaps," says he, stumbling over his words. "But she gave them over to me. I do assure you she did, Mary," says he, as if it was an excuse for himself.
"Gave them over to you—what for?" says Mary.
Walter wouldn't tell at first, and then he shuffled. I'd given them over to him to do what he liked with them—at least, it wasn't exactly a present, but a loan—at least, it was just to tide him over a difficulty, when he was hard-pressed—at least—
Mary got out of patience with him, I suppose, for she cut sharp into his talk. "At least, you wheedled poor little Kitty out of them!" says she.
Mother hadn't looked at me once for ever so long, and I don't think Mary had either. I stood leaning against the dresser still, feeling like one stupefied, yet able to take in every word that Mary said, so that I never could forget any of it again. I had stopped crying. I was listening too hard to leave any time or power for tears.
I heard a sort of catch in my own breath, when Mary got so far; and Mary must have heard it too, for she turned round towards me, and said—
"Kitty, did you give the watch and chain to Walter?"
I was startled by the sudden question, and I said, "O no!" —not stopping to think.
"Then you lent them to him! But what for?" said she.