"Well, Richard, thee's given us a bright, merry afternoon."
"Yes, Richard," Miss Warren began, as if her heart had spoken unawares—"I beg your pardon—Mr. Morton—" and then she stopped in piteous confusion, for I had turned toward her with all my unspeakable love in my face.
Adah's laugh rang out a little harshly.
I hastened to the rescue of the embarrassed girl, saying, "I don't see why you should beg my pardon. We're all Friends here. At least I'm trying to be one as fast as a leopard can change his spots and the Ethiopian his skin. As for you, a tailor would say you were cut from the same cloth as Mrs. Yocomb."
But for some reason she could not recover herself. She probably realized, in the tumult of her feeling, that she had revealed her heart too clearly, and she could not help seeing that Adah understood her. She was too confused for further pretence, and too unnerved to attempt it. After a moment of pitiful hesitation she fled with a scarlet face to her room.
"Well," said Adah, with a slight hysterical laugh, "I understand Emily
Warren now."
"Pardon me, Miss Adah, I don't think you do," I began.
"If thee doesn't, thee's blind indeed."
"I am blind."
"Be assured I'm not any longer," and with a deep angry flush she, too, left us.