"There is nothing I can say—nothing," says Tita, tears dimming her eyes. "Why are you so good to me? Oh, Meg! there is one, one thing—I love you, and love you, and love you!" She slips her soft arms round Margaret's neck, and presses her cheek to hers. There is moisture on Margaret's face when this little burst of gratitude has been accomplished. "I never loved anyone as I love you," says Tita.
"There is someone else you ought to love better, Tita."
"There is someone else I hate," returns Tita, with really astonishing promptitude.
"Well, about Oakdean," says Margaret quickly, appalled by this outbreak of wrath.
"There is nothing about it; it is gone," says Tita, in a forlorn sort of way; then: "I wonder who bought it?"
"I don't know. I asked, but I could not find out. Some rich merchant, no doubt."
"Well," sighing, "a rich merchant bought it before—my poor father—and to a rich merchant it has gone. That is as it should be. Still, it was so pretty, so lovely, so homelike, that I wish——"
"What, darling?"
"That it had been burnt to the ground before anyone else got it," breaks out Tita, in a little storm of grief and despair.
"Yes, I know; I can feel with you," says Margaret, pressing her back into a chair, and hovering over her with loving touches and tender words. "But, after all, Tita, one has to give up things daily. It is life. Life is one long surrender."