'But it wouldn't, Flossie; it is too late to speak now. I can't tell him how I really feel—I can't!'
'Ah, then you own there is something to tell?'
'What have I said? Flossie, forget what I said; it slipped out. I meant nothing.'
'And you are perfectly happy and satisfied, are you? Now, I know how people look when they are perfectly happy and satisfied.'
'It's no use!' cried Ella, suddenly. 'I've tried, and tried, and tried to bear it, but I can't. I must tell somebody ... it is making me ill. I am getting cross and wicked, and unlike what I used to be. Flossie, I can't go and live there—I dread the thought of it; I shrink from it more and more every day! It is all odious, impossible—and yet I must, I must!'
'No, you mustn't; and, what's more, you shan't!'
'Flossie, you mean you will tell mother! You must not, do you hear? If you do, it will only make matters worse. Oh, why did I tell you?' cried Ella, in shame at this lapse from all her heroism. 'Promise me you will say nothing to mother—it is too late now—promise!'
'Very well,' said Flossie reluctantly; 'then I promise. But, all the same, Ella, I think you're a great goose!'
'I didn't promise I wouldn't say anything to George, though,' she reflected; and so, on the very next occasion that she caught him alone, she availed herself of an innocent allusion of his to Ella's low spirits to give him the benefit of her candid opinion, which was not tempered by any marked consideration for his feelings.