When Jessie reached home she threw her hood and cloak carelessly on to the floor. The cloak-stand was pretty well filled up, and she was in too much haste, to take the pains needed to find a place on the hooks for her garments. This was one of her faults. A new impulse had seized her, and she thought of nothing else. Bounding into her mother’s room, she said:
“Mother, will you let me make two shirts for poor Jack Moneypenny?”
Mrs. Carlton looked up from her work, and after a moment’s glance at the eager face of her daughter, asked:
“Who is Jack Moneypenny, my dear?”
Jessie, in her eagerness to carry her point, had forgotten to ask if her mother knew any thing of the widow, or her son, Jack. This question checked her ardor a little, and she told the story of the widow’s misfortune. Just as she was finishing her tale, however, she thought of Guy’s wish to keep his part in the affair a secret. So blushing deeply, she added:
“Oh dear! what will Guy say? I promised to keep it all secret, and now I have told all about it. He said girls couldn’t keep a secret, and I believe he is right. What shall I do, Mother?”
“Why tell him that you have told me, to be sure. Guy has no secrets with his mother, and I am sure he does not wish his sister to have any.”
“Has Guy told you about it, then?”
“Yes, he told me all his plans from the first. Guy never conceals any thing from his mother.”
“What made you ask me who Jack Moneypenny was, then, Ma, if you knew before?”