In the midst of her schoolmates she lived almost alone. She was too proud to assert her innocence or to seek for sympathy from those who had suspected her. She was too proud, too, to show how much she suffered.
In public she was as calm and quiet as ever,—to all appearance the same; but many a night her pillow was wet with her tears.
Florence treated her with the utmost contempt, hardly deigning to speak to her; and Carrie, she felt, distrusted her: this last affair had shaken her confidence in her relative. She said nothing when Susan was spoken of; and this silence cut her cousin to the heart.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE SECRET OUT.
Many weary weeks dragged by. On one Saturday morning Susan and Florence were alone in their room.
Florence had been rearranging the furniture on her side of the apartment, and, among other changes, was attempting to move the bureau into a new position.
It was heavy and gave her trouble.
Susan saw her difficulty, and at first resolved not to aid her; but after a second or two, reproaching herself for such a feeling, she rose, and, going up to the bureau, took hold of one side of it without speaking.
Florence half pushed her away.