"What is it? Is there a toad in the room?" she said.
"Don't be silly, Agnes," said Rosamund. "I really have no patience with you. Now, what is the matter? Sit up in bed and tell me."
Rosamund did not mean to be unkind, nor did she speak in an unkind way, although her words sounded somewhat determined.
"I want to speak to you, Agnes," she said. "You were told stories—and very exaggerated they doubtless were—by Lucy Merriman when Irene and I were at The Follies to-day."
"I was told frightful stories all about Irene."
"Then do you mean to tell me you don't love her any more?"
"I shall always love her; but if she were to do such a thing to me it would kill me."
"She would never do such a thing to you. Now, I will tell you something about her. She used to be a wild and very naughty child. People were afraid of her, and she had nothing else to occupy her time but to add to their terrors. Then I came across her path, and I was not a bit afraid of her. In short, I think I helped her not to be so naughty. But I did not do half the good you have done."
"I?" said little Agnes, in amazement.
"Yes, you, Aggie—you; for you loved her, and you helped her to be good by simply trusting her, and by clinging to her and thinking her all that is good and beautiful. Between us—you and me—we were softening her, and she will be a splendid woman some day, not a poor, miserable wretch, half-wild, but good and true and noble."