“I do indeed know.”
“Has he told any one else?”
“I believe not.”
“Agnes—have I been a fool?”
“You have been very unkind,” said the girl, and her eyes filled with tears.
For a moment Mrs. Failing was annoyed. “Unkind? I do not see that at all. I believe in looking facts in the face. Rickie must know his ghosts some time. Why not this afternoon?”
She rose with quiet dignity, but her tears came faster. “That is not so. You told him to hurt him. I cannot think what you did it for. I suppose because he was rude to you after church. It is a mean, cowardly revenge.
“What—what if it’s a lie?”
“Then, Mrs. Failing, it is sickening of you. There is no other word. Sickening. I am sorry—a nobody like myself—to speak like this. How COULD you, oh, how could you demean yourself? Why, not even a poor person—Her indignation was fine and genuine. But her tears fell no longer. Nothing menaced her if they were not really brothers.
“It is not a lie, my clear; sit down. I will swear so much solemnly. It is not a lie, but—”