"Did you ever hear the history of your mother's early days, Felicia?" he asked curiously.
"Oh, yes! It is such an interesting story. I never used to tire of listening to it."
"I wish you would tell it to me some day, will you?"
"Yes, indeed I will—to-morrow, if you like, Uncle Guy."
"Thank you; I should much like to hear it. I fear I shall not be strong enough to get up to-morrow. It is wearisome lying here on my back, and I get tired of reading, so if you will spare me an hour of your society during the afternoon, I shall be very glad. Your aunt will be here in the morning, and father's sure to spend awhile with me after breakfast. By the way, what sort of friends are you and Doris now?"
"Uncle Guy, how did you know—who told you—" Felicia stammered, flushing and looking confused. "We are not friends at all," she admitted dejectedly.
"I imagined not."
"I—I believe Doris rather despises me," the little girl said in a faltering voice, "and—and it makes me so angry to know it is because of—of mother. Doris doesn't say so, but I know, and she looks down on me because we lived in an attic—I am not ashamed of that, I hope I never shall be. Mother said I was to remember that if she was a 'nobody,' and not very wise—that is what she said—she tried to teach me to be a good girl and did the best she could. And she said God doesn't ask more than that. Oh, it hurts me to think anyone should—should—"
Felicia's voice faltered, and she could not finish her sentence. Glancing at her uncle's countenance, she saw it bore the traces of strong emotion. She knew she ought not to excite him, and for his sake she strove to restrain her tears.
"I'm very silly," she continued, as soon as she could speak, "and I know I ought not to be so angry with Doris, because she doesn't understand how dearly I loved mother; but you understand, you always have." And the look she gave him was full of confidence and affection.