Genevieve wet her lips twice this time before she could speak.
"I say, isn't it nice that this one isn't faded? You know Elsie had such a time with that chambray last summer!"
"What do you mean, please?" There was no doubt now about the sharpness in Mrs. Gale's voice.
Genevieve managed a laugh—but it was not a very mirthful one.
"Why, 'twas so funny, you know; it was made from the twins' dresses, and they weren't faded alike. It was just as Elsie said—she didn't know whether to turn Cora or Clara toward folks. It was funny; only, of course it did plague poor Elsie awfully, and I felt so sorry for her."
"You felt sorry—sorry for my niece?" The voice was so very angry this time that Genevieve trembled. She was sure now that it was bad—this thing she was doing—that good might come. But she kept bravely on.
"Why, yes, of course; all of us girls were sorry for her. You know Elsie does so love new dresses, and of course she doesn't have them very often. Last summer, when she was feeling so bad over her chambray, I—I offered her one of mine, but—"
"You—you offered my niece one of your dresses?" gasped Mrs. Gale.
"Yes, but she wouldn't take it; and, of course, that wasn't new, either," finished Genevieve, with what she hoped would pass for a light laugh as she turned away.
Behind her, for a moment, there was an ominous silence. Then a very quiet voice said: