‘Only not quite base,’ said Sophy. Then presently, turning on her pillow as though more willing to converse, she said, ‘I am glad it was not last year.’
‘We had troubles enough then!’
‘Not for that—because I should have been base then, and hated myself for it all the time.’
‘That you never could have been!’ cried Albinia. ‘But, my dear, you must let me contrive for you; I would not betray you for all the world, but the sight of these two is more than you ought to undergo. I will not send Genevieve away, but you must go from home.’
‘I don’t think I shall be cross,’ said poor Sophy, simply; ‘I should be ashamed.’
‘Cross! It is I who am cross, because I am to blame; but, dearest, think if you are keeping up out of pride; that will never, never do.’
‘I do not believe it is pride,’ said Sophy, meekly; ‘at least, I hope not. I feel humiliated enough, and I think it may be a sort of shame, as well as consideration for them, that would make me wish that no difference should be made. Do you not think we may let things go on?’ she said, in so humble a manner, that it brought Albinia’s tears, and a kiss was the only answer. ‘Please tell me,’ said Sophy; ‘for I don’t want to deceive myself.’
‘I am sure I am no judge,’ cried Albinia, ‘after the dreadful mischief I have done.’
‘The mischief was in me,’ said Sophy, ‘or you could not have done it. I saw it all when I was lying awake last night, and how it began, or rather it was before I can remember exactly. I always had craving after something—a yearning for something to fix myself on—and after I grew to read and look out into the world, I thought it must be that. And when I knew I was ugly and disagreeable, I brooded and brooded, and only in my better moments tried to be satisfied with you and papa and the children.’
‘And the All-satisfying, Sophy dear.’