Helen's voice had a break in it. She went on taking down her hair, putting away her necktie and handkerchief, then hung her skirt in the wardrobe. Would she ask Daisy to read with her? "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." But she wasn't even angry, only indignant at what looked to her like injustice.
"Daisy," she began presently, "if someone told you a story, incidents out of her life that you knew were given in a burst of confidence, under the impression that you would not repeat it, should you feel duty bound to rehearse it to your friend. I did not promise, but I felt it was her business. Mrs. Aldred knew it; Miss Grace, too, I dare say, but they did not explain it to the school."
"It was nothing disgraceful. And the girls surmised—why, I think it would have been better explained," and Daisy roused up a little.
"What right had any girl to surmise? It was admitted that Mrs. Aldred would not have taken in anyone with dishonorable antecedents. And if my father had been a criminal of any sort, could I have helped it? But Mrs. Aldred knew there was nothing except a neglected girlhood which she has been trying in the kindliest manner to remedy. When a girl surmised anything, she was willing to give color to what she did not know was true. It seems to me that is very near a falsehood."
Daisy had heard more sneers than Helen. Her face burned with a pained consciousness. She really felt ashamed that she should have half believed the positive untruths. Gossip and ill-nature without any foundation—how despicable it looked. How could they have been amused over it?
"I don't see why she shouldn't have been willing to let us all know she was so rich," Daisy said in a sort of extenuation for the girls.
"I think it was because she wanted to do her hardest work unnoticed, for one thing, and she doesn't seem at all proud of the money though it is honorably obtained. She is very timid because she realizes her own deficiencies. I can't help feeling things would have been better with her if that Mrs. Howard had been her guardian's wife. Think, she's nineteen years old and no one has ever given her a bit of love, until——"
The great clock in the hall rolled out ten in its ponderous tones.
"Oh, good gracious!" Daisy jumped lightly from her bed. Helen put out the light and went on with her undressing. There could be no reading. She did not say a word, but knelt down presently.
It was hard to know just what was right and best. She had a feeling that she ought to go over to Daisy, since she had given the offense—it was not an offense on her part—but she could say, "I am sorry we quarreled when we meant to be such dear friends." She repeated "Our Father, who art in heaven," and then she remembered the man who prayed for wisdom, and who chose wisdom.