"There's money, if that's all. I'll bury it here under a stone, and you shall find it."
"No! no! no! How could you! oh, how could you!"
The voice was hurt indeed now, and willing to be thought so.
"Why, playmate, is that so dreadful? Money's the least important thing there is."
"It is important," said she broodingly. "It seems to me all my miseries, my disgraces have come from that."
"You don't want to tell me about them? You don't think it would make them better?"
"You said you didn't care. You said what we had lived through—what I had—these twenty-five years, made no difference!"
"Not to me. But when it comes to you, why, maybe I could help you."
She thought a while and then answered definitely and coldly,—
"No, I can't do it. I should have to tell—too many things."