"It seems to me," said the young girl, "that if I had done something very foolish and wicked, like trying to kill myself, and if people took it for granted that I was crazy, I would let them believe it, because I should be too much ashamed of myself to allow that I had consciously done anything so bad. Perhaps that is very silly; do you think so?"
"I do not think it is silly," I replied. "It is a very original idea."
"Well, I will tell you something. Soon after she was first brought here I used to go and see her more often than I do now. She interested me so much. I was often alone with her. She never answered any questions, but she would sometimes let me read aloud to her. I do not know whether she understood anything I read, but it soothed her, and occasionally she would go to sleep while I was reading. One day I was sitting quite quietly beside her, and she looked at me very sadly, as though she were thinking of somebody she had loved,—I cannot tell why; and without thinking I looked at her, and said, 'Dear aunt Annie, tell me, you are not really mad, are you?' Then she turned very pale and began to cry, so that I was frightened, and called the nurse, and went away. I never told anybody, because it seemed so foolish of me, and I thought I had been unkind, and had hurt her feelings. But after that she did not seem to want to see me when I came, and so I have thought a great deal about it. Do you see? Perhaps there is not much connection."
"I think you ought to have told some one; your father, for instance," I said. "It is very interesting."
"I have told you, though it is so long since it happened," she answered; and then she added, quickly, "Shall you tell Professor Cutter?"
"No," I replied, after a moment's hesitation. "I do not think I shall. Should you like me to tell him?"
"Oh, no," she exclaimed quickly, "I should much rather you would not."
"Why?" I inquired. "I agree with you, but I should like to know your reason."
"I think Professor Cutter knows more already than he will tell you or me"—— She checked herself, and then continued in a lower voice: "It is prejudice, of course, but I do not like him. I positively cannot bear the sight of him."
"I fancy he knows that you do not like him," I remarked.