“He never will,” thought Miss Carter, in despair. “Never! I’ve spoiled everything! I never even gave him a chance to speak one single word to Maude. Of course he’ll never come again!”
And it did not add very greatly to her peace of mind to see that Maude was unusually silent and pale.
“You get right to bed, child,” she said. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“No—I’ll help you, auntie darling.”
“But you have to get up in the morning,” Miss Carter protested.
“So do you,” returned Maude.
“But you have to go to work.”
“I don’t work as hard as you do,” said Maude.
This startled Miss Carter, because somehow she never thought of her work as work. It touched her, too, very much, and if she had not been a Connecticut Carter she would probably have cried; but she was one, so she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t even hint to Maude how sorry she was for her wicked, selfish conduct. All she could do was to be very, very brisk and cheerful, and to fly around the kitchen like a bee.
And there was Maude, drying the dishes, her lovely young face so pale, so grave!