“Sometimes,” said John, “I think that you have gone off your head, Betty. But I can’t stay to listen to any more of these nonsenses. I have my garden to look after.”
The final delight before the curtain of that birthday was dropped down for ever found its vent in music—music in which Mr. Dale took a part, and in which Miss Tredgold excelled herself. It was the music that awoke Pauline’s slumbering conscience. It was during that music that her heart truly began to understand itself.
“I am wicked—a coward and a liar,” she thought. “But, all the same, I am going on, for I must. Aunt Sophy loves me, and I love her, and I wouldn’t have her love turned to hate for all the world. She must never find out what I did in the past, and the only way to keep it from her is to go on as I am going on.”
CHAPTER XVII.
A WILD FROLIC.
The first part of the birthday was absolutely over, but the second part—the terrifying, awful part—was at hand. Aunt Sophy had kissed Pauline and had blessed her by a look. Her father had also put his trembling hand on her shoulder.
“When you want to read that lovely volume of Cicero,” he said, “come to me and I will teach you. I will spare a few minutes of my valuable time to give you instruction.”
Verena had also kissed her heartily, and she and the rest of her sisters had gone to bed. They were all tired. Verena came for a minute into Pauline’s little room.
“I am too sleepy even to brush my hair in your room to-night, Paulie,” she said. “I am too sleepy to talk about our long happy day. What a pile of presents you have got! Don’t you think you have had a perfect birthday? I only wish mine was near at hand.”