"But you care for him, Rosanne!"
"I know," said the other sombrely. "I love him. I love him, and I can't resist letting him know and taking his love for a little while. It is so wonderful. Oh, Kit, it is so wonderful! But I can never marry him. I am too wicked."
"Wicked!"
Kitty stared at her. The lovely dark face had become extraordinarily distorted and anguished, and seemed actually to age under Kitty's eyes. The girl put up her hands and pressed them to her temples.
"Oh, I am so unhappy," she muttered, "and I can't tell any one! Mother and Rosalie don't understand——"
Kitty Drummund was only frivolous on the surface. At core she was sound, a good woman and a loyal friend. She took the girl's hands.
"Tell me, dear," she said gravely; "I'll try and help."
But Rosanne shook her head. The agonized, tortured look passed slowly from her features, and her face became once more composed, though white as ashes. Her eyes were dull as burnt-out fires.
"I can't," she said heavily. "I can't tell any one; I don't even understand it myself."
She fell into silence again, but presently turned to Kit with a stern look, half commanding, half imploring.