“Tell me now,” I commanded. “What did you say to her? You didn't—you didn't—”
“I did. I told her everything.”
“EVERYTHING! You don't mean—”
“I mean everything. 'Twas time she knew it. I went to that room meanin' to tell her and I did. At first she didn't want to listen, didn't want to see me at all or even let me in. But I made her let me in and then she and I had it out.”
“Hephzy!”
“Don't say it that way, Hosy. The good Lord knows I hate myself for doin' it, hated myself while I was doin' it, but it had to be done. Every word I spoke cut me as bad as it must have cut her. I kept thinkin', 'This is Little Frank I'm talkin' to. This is Ardelia's daughter I'm makin' miserable.' A dozen times I stopped and thought I couldn't go on, but every time I thought of you and what you'd put up with and been through, and I went on.”
“Hephzy! you told her—”
“I said it was time she understood just the plain truth about her father and mother and grandfather and the money, and everything. She must know it, I said; things couldn't go on as they have been. I told it all. At first she wouldn't listen, said I was—well, everything that was mean and lyin' and bad. If she could she'd have put me out of her room, I presume likely, but I wouldn't go. And, of course, at first she wouldn't believe, but I made her believe.”
“Made her believe! Made her believe her father was a thief! How could you do that! No one could.”
“I did it. I don't know how exactly. I just went on tellin' it all straight from the beginnin', and pretty soon I could see she was commencin' to believe. And she believes now, Hosy; she does, I know it.”