“Perhaps I am feeble-minded,” said Mariposa humbly. “I certainly don’t think I’m very clever, especially now with everybody telling me what a fool I am.”
“You’re only a fool on that one point, honey. And that’s what makes it so aggravating. It’s just a kink in your brain, for you’ve got no reason to act the way you do.”
She spoke positively, but her pleading look at Mariposa showed that she was not yet willing to give up the search for a reason. Mariposa leaned forward and took her hand.
“Oh, dear Mrs. Willers,” she said, “don’t ask me any more. Don’t tease me. I do love you, and you’ve been so kind to me I can never stop loving you, no matter what you did. But let me be. Perhaps I have a reason, and perhaps I am only a fool, but whichever way it is, be sure I haven’t acted hastily; and I’ve suffered, too, trying to do what seemed to me right.”
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she got up quickly to hide them, and stood looking out of the window. Mrs. Willers rose, too, and, putting an arm around her, kissed her cheek.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll try not to bother. But you want to tell me whatever you think you can. You’re too good-looking, Mariposa, and you’re such—a—”
She stopped.
“A fool,” came from Mariposa, in the stifled tones of imminent tears. There was a moment’s pause, and then their simultaneous laughter filled the room.
“You see you can’t help saying it,” said Mariposa, laughing foolishly, with the tears hanging on her lashes. “It’s like any other bad habit—its getting entire control of you.”
A few moments later Mrs. Willers was walking quickly down the hill toward Sutter Street, her brows knit in thought. She had certainly discovered nothing. In her pocket was Mrs. Shackleton’s letter telling of Miss Moreau’s refusal of her offer and asking if Mrs. Willers knew the reason of it. Mrs. Shackleton had wondered if Miss Moreau’s affections had been engaged, which could perhaps account for her otherwise unaccountable rejection of an opportunity upon which her whole future might depend.