“‘Heap coals?’” echoed Dolly, at first not comprehending; then she laughed. “I couldn’t do that. I have none to ‘heap’ and I’d be horrid if I tried. What do you mean?”
“It began the night you came. I made up things about you in my mind and then told them to our ‘set’ for facts. I’d—I’d had trouble with the ‘set’ because they would not remember about—about keeping ourselves apart from those who hadn’t titles. I felt we ought to remember; that if our England had made ‘classes’ we ought to help her, loyally. That was the first feeling, way down deep. Then—then I don’t get liked as I want to be, because I can’t help knowing things about other girls and if they break the rules I felt I ought to tell the teachers. Somehow, even they don’t like that; for the Lady Principal about as plain as called me ‘tale-bearer.’ I hate—oh! I do hate to tell you all this! But I can’t help it. Something inside me makes me, but I’m so miserable!”
She looked the fact she stated and Dorothy’s sympathy was won, so that she begged:
“Don’t do it, then. Just get well and—and carry no more tales and you’ll be happy right away.”
“It’s easy to talk—for you, maybe. For me, I’d almost rather die than own I’ve been at fault—if it wasn’t for that horrid, sick sort of feeling inside me.”
In spite of herself the listener laughed, for Gwendolyn had laid her hands upon her stomach as if locating the seat of her misery. She asked merrily:
“Is it there we keep our consciences? I never knew before and am glad to find out.”
But Gwendolyn didn’t laugh. She was an odd sort of girl, and always desperately earnest in whatever she undertook. She had made up her mind she must confess to the “Commoner” the things she had done against her; she was sincerely sorry for them now, but she couldn’t make that confession gracefully. She caught her breath as if before a plunge into cold water and then blurted out:
“I told ‘our set’ that you were Dawkins’s niece! I said you were a disgrace to the school and one of us would have to leave it. But Mamma wouldn’t take me and I couldn’t make you go. I got mad and jealous. Everybody liked you, except the girls I’d influenced. The Bishop petted you—he never notices me. Miss Tross-Kingdon treats you almost as lovingly as she does Millikins-Pillikins. All the servants smile on you and nobody is afraid of you as everybody is of me. Dawkins, and sometimes even Mamma, accuses me of a ‘sharp tongue’ that makes enemies. But, somehow, I can’t help it. And the worst is—one can’t get back the things one has said and done, no matter how she tries. Then you went and saved my life!”
At this, the strange girl covered her face and began to cry, while Dorothy stared at her, too surprised to speak. Until the tears changed to sobs and Gwendolyn shook with the stress of her emotion. Then, fearing serious results, Dorothy forgot everything except that here was someone in distress which she must soothe. Down on her knees she went, flung her arms around the shaking shoulders, and pleaded: