“How old are you, Britomarte?” suddenly inquired Alberta.
Britomarte paused as though she could scarcely answer that question at a moment’s warning; and then she answered:
“I am eighteen. Why?”
“You talk as if you were eighty—that’s all.”
“I have had enough to age me,” said Britomarte, putting Erminie’s caressing arms from her neck, and rising, and walking away, as if to conceal, or overcome, some strong and deep emotion.
“Britomarte speaks bitterly,” said Elfie, in amazement.
“She has good reason to do so,” replied Alba, meaningly.
“What reason?” inquired Elfie and Erminie, in a breath.
“Law! don’t you know? Have you never heard?”
“No.”