The blunt question startled her, and a faint color stole into her face.
"I watch you sometimes when I suppose you are not dreaming of it. We have been sitting here together for three months, we were at the Fair,—and there is something different about you from what I find in most girls. I wonder if it is your taste or your nature."
"We are none of us alike," said Kathie, with a peculiar half-smile.
"It is not that specific difference which we all have. You appear to be thinking of others, you never answer crossly, you often give up your own ease and comfort, and there is a little light in your eyes as if something out of your soul was shining through them. And all this talk about dressing and what one is going to do by and by never touches you at all. I suppose you could have everything you want! Lottie Thorne says your uncle idolizes you, and—he is rich, I know."
"I have all that is necessary, and many luxuries," Kathie answered, slowly.
"But what makes you—what keeps you in such a heaven of content? O, I can't explain what I mean! I wonder if you have religion, Kathie Alston."
Do her best, Kathie could not keep the tears out of her eyes. What was there to cry about? But somehow she felt so strange and shy, and full of tender pain.
"I think we ought all to try," she answered, with a sweet seriousness in her voice. "Even if we cannot take but one step—"