Joy went and the door was shut. Just what happened that next half hour Gypsy never knew. Joy came upstairs at the end of it, red-eyed and crying, and gentle.
Gypsy was standing by the window.
"Gypsy."
"Well."
"I love auntie dearly, now I guess I do."
"Of course," said Gypsy; "everybody does."
"I hadn't the least idea it was so wicked—not the least idea. Mother used to——"
But Joy broke off suddenly, with quivering, crimson lips.
What that mother used to do Gypsy never asked; Joy never told her—either then, or at any other time.