Molly looked at her sharply.
“As how, miss?” she said.
“Well, you see, it’s very hard to tell anything just exactly as it happened, and if you should vary a shade from the truth, and then tell it differently next time you might get arrested for—for perjury.”
“Arrested! Do you mean that?”
“I certainly do. I’ve known girls to tell stories under stress of excitement and then try to repeat them and get all mixed up, and, oh, well, it’s a dangerous performance.”
“But if I just told you, now, miss?”
“What have you to tell? And why do you want to tell anybody?”
“I thought—I thought if I told I might get something for it.”
“I like your frankness, Molly, and I don’t mind offering you a fair price for your goods, if you can put ’em up. But can you?”
“Ma’am?”