“Do you, dear? Then I’m sure you understand.”
Partly because the minute was emotional, and partly from a sense that she needed to explain herself, Letty murmured, more or less indistinctly: “It’s on his account that I’m here.”
Failing to see the force of this Miss Towell was content to say: “I’m glad you were led to me, dear. 319 There’s always a power to shepherd us along, if we’ll only let ourselves be guided.”
To Letty the moment had arrived when plainness of speech was imperative. Leaning across the tray, which still stood on her lap, she gazed up at her hostess with eager, misty eyes. “He said you’d teach me all the ropes.”
Miss Towell paused beside the bed, to look inquiringly at the tense little face. “The ropes of what, dear?”
“Of what—” it was hard to express—“of what you—you used to be yourself. You don’t seem like it now,” she added, desperately, “but you were, weren’t you?”
“Oh, that!” The surprise was in the discovery that an American girl of Letty’s age could entertain so sensible a purpose. “Why, of course, dear! I’ll tell you all I know, and welcome.”
“There’s quite a trick to it, isn’t there?”
“Well, it’s more than a trick. There are two or three things which you simply have to be.”
“Oh, I know that. That’s what frightens me.”