"Yes," Celia replied, in a low, shamed voice. "I—I was a coward and—and I wanted Uncle Jasper to think well of me."
"He'll never make you his heiress now! And I used to fancy—"
"Oh, Lulu, don't talk like that!" Celia cried, with a sudden burst of grief. "I wish we had never come to the Moat House. I wish Uncle Jasper had let us stay in our little home at A—. I was happier there. Yes, I was!—although we were so poor. And I was a better girl—oh, a much better girl! And Joy and I were good friends! Oh, Joy, Joy!"
Lulu started in amazement, unable to account for this sudden change in Celia's sentiments; she remarked with an attempt at consolation:
"You'll be good friends with Joy again; I am sure she will not bear malice."
"Oh, no! Have you heard—have they told you that she may never be able to walk as long as she lives?" Celia inquired, tearfully.
"No!" gasped Lulu. "Oh, it can't be true! Oh, it's too terrible!"
"It is true!" Celia sobbed. "Mother told me this morning; and, oh, it nearly breaks my heart to think it! It's her hip; it's more injured than the doctors considered at first; and it may be that she will have to spend the rest of her life lying on her back like Mrs. Long, the gamekeeper's wife. Oh, isn't it hard lines for her? She loves running about outdoors, and—oh, poor Joy!"
"Does she know?" Lulu asked, in shocked accents.
"Yes, mother told her yesterday, and she took it very well. At first she cried dreadfully but afterwards she said she would try to be brave, and not to mind, because she was sure God knew what was best for her. You see, the accident wasn't the result of any wrong-doing on her part, so she has nothing to reproach herself with. But, oh, Lulu, isn't it simply awful to think she may never walk again?"