Gypsy's face turned to a sudden crimson.
"Then, a nutting party was a new thing to Joy, and with the care of Winnie and all, it is no wonder she did not find it very pleasant, and she had never climbed a tree in her life. This was her first Saturday afternoon in Yorkbury, and she was, no doubt, feeling lonely and homesick, and it made her none the happier to be laughed at for not doing something she had not the slightest idea how to do. Was it quite generous to let her start off alone, over a strange road, with the care of a crying——"
"And muddy," put in Gypsy, with twinkling eyes, "from head to foot, black as a shoe."
"And muddy child?" finished Mrs. Breynton, smiling in spite of herself.
"But Joy wanted to take him, and I told her so. It was her own bargain."
"I know that. But we are not speaking of bargains, Gypsy; we are speaking of what is kind and generous. Now, how does it strike you?"
"It strikes me," said Gypsy, in her honest way, after a moment's pause—"it strikes me that I'm a horrid selfish old thing, and I've lived twelve years and just found it out; there now!"
Just as Gypsy was going to bed she turned around with the lamp in her hand, her great eyes dreaming away in the brownest of brown studies.