"It was pretty hard not to, wasn't it? after the queer things you'd been doing. There was just one person who stuck it out that it wasn't true; and that was little Milly. She didn't say much to the family; but to me she declared that if all the armies in France were to swear to it, she'd still know there was some mistake. She's another one I can't make out."
"What can't you make out about her?"
"Whether she's got a heart in her body, or only a hard-boiled egg."
"Oh, I fancy she has a heart all right."
"I used to fancy the same thing, or rather I took it for granted; but ever since— Well, she just stumps me."
She reverted to her errand in Boston and what came of it.
"It wasn't till I began to hear of what was going on there that it seemed to me—" the veil of tears to which her eyes were liable descended like a distant mist—"that it seemed to me a darned shame."
"What seemed to you a darned shame in particular?"
"Well, first that Dick Stroud should be pulling the wool over any other woman's eyes, especially a rich one, and then that he should be upsettin' your apple-cart when you'd had so much trouble already. After that it all came easy."
"What came easy?"