“He was the person you wrote to, was he not?”
“Oh, hush, hush! Raise not your voice to that point; some one may come in and hear.”
“And why should not people hear? I must say English girls have secrets, but not that sort,” I said, with great indignation.
“You are so bitter and so proud,” she said; “but you know not the heart-hunger.”
“Oh yes, I do!” I answered. I was thinking of my mother and her miniature, and the fading image of that loved memory in the old home. I also thought of the new step-mother. Yes, yes, I knew what heart-hunger was. My tone changed to one of pity.
“I have felt it,” I said.
“Oh, then, you have had your beloved one?”
“Indeed, yes.”
“Did I not say that of all the school it was natural I should select you to be to me a companion?”
“Can I help you?” I said.