For a moment it looked as if Mrs. Payson meant to resist stubbornly. She even jerked her arm away, childishly. But strong as her will was, her aching body protested still more strongly. Lottie hoisted her almost bodily into the electric. She looked shrunken and ocherous as she huddled in a corner. But her face was set, implacable. The car sped down the rain-swept street. Lottie glanced sideways at her mother. Her eyes were closed. They seemed strangely deep-set in their sockets.
"Oh, mama——" Lottie's voice broke; the tears, hot, hurt, repentant, coursed down her cheeks—"why did you do it! You knew—you knew——"
Mrs. Carrie Payson opened her eyes. "You said Belle's hired girl's sister was more important than I, didn't you? Well!"
"But you knew I didn't——" she stopped short. She couldn't say she hadn't meant it. She had. She couldn't explain to her mother that she had meant that her effort to help Jeannette was her protest against stifled expression. Her mother would not have understood. It sounded silly and pretentious even in her unspoken thought. But deeper than this deprecatory self-consciousness was a new and growing consciousness of Self.
She remembered Jeannette; Jeannette installed in the third floor room, a member of the household. At the thought of breaking the news of her presence to her mother Lottie felt a wild desire to giggle. It was a task too colossal, too hopeless for seriousness. You had to tackle it smilingly or go down to defeat at once. Lottie braced herself for the effort. She told herself, dramatically, that if Jeannette went she, too, would go.
"I brought Jeannette home with me."
"Who?"
"Jeannette—Gussie's sister. The one who's had trouble with the family."
"Home! What for!"
"She's—she's a nice little thing, and bright. There wasn't any place to send her. We've got so much room."