“It is as true as anything in the wide world,” said Pen, speaking with intense emphasis and coming close to her sister. “There never was anybody more wicked than you—’cept me. We are both as bad as bad can be. But I tell you what, Paulie, though I meant to tell, I am not going to tell now; for but for you I’d have been drownded, and I am never, never, never going to tell.”
“But for me!” said Pauline, and the expression on her face was somewhat vague.
“Oh, Paulie, how white you look! No, I will never tell. I love you now, and it is your secret and mine for ever and ever.”
Pauline said nothing. She put her hand to her forehead; the dull weight on her head was very manifest.
“We are going home next week,” continued Pen in her brightest manner. “You will be glad of that. You will see Briar and Patty and all the rest, and perhaps you will get to look as you used to. You are not much to be proud of now. You are seedy-looking, and rather dull, and not a bit amusing. But I loves you, and I’ll never, never tell.”
“Run away, Pen,” said Miss Tredgold, coming into the room at that moment. “You are tiring Pauline. You should not have talked so loud; your sister is not very strong yet.”