"I already like Miss Adams too well to let her go entirely out of my life," she said, with spirit. "I claim my right to know a little about it."
"It is your right," said Farnsworth, "and first of all this runaway of ours is not Miss Adams, but Miss Thorpe."
"No," said Azalea, with an air of decision, "I'm not Miss Thorpe,—and
I am Alice Adams."
"Flighty," said Farnsworth, "and no wonder. She's been under a good deal of nervous strain lately."
"No; I'm not flighty," persisted Azalea, who was entirely composed now, and who spoke firmly, though she was evidently controlling herself with an effort.
"And I'm going to confess now," she went on. "Now and here. Miss Grayson is so kind and dear I don't mind her knowing, and the rest of you must know. I must tell you,—I can't live if I don't."
"All right, Zaly, dear, tell us," and Patty sat beside her, and put a caressing hand on her arm.
"I am Alice Adams," Azalea said, "and I am not Azalea Thorpe at all,—and I never was."
"Oh!" said Farnsworth, beginning to see light.
"I am a wicked girl," the pathetic little voice went on. "I lived in Homer's Corners,—and I lived with the woman who keeps the post-office there. I've been an orphan since I was four, and this woman brought me up,—though it scarcely could be called that, for she only looked on me as her assistant in the office and in her house.