"Oh, Carrie, it seems such a bitter shame," said Kitty. Her face was crimson; she went to the other side of the room, opened the window and put out her head. She wanted the cool air to soothe her scorched cheeks; her heart was thumping in her breast. Had matters indeed come to this, that she, Kitty Malone, was to pawn her pretty dresses, her trinkets, her whatnots! Alas! she could not do it.
"I have often had to do it," said Carrie. "I know just how to manage. If you'll allow me to select the most suitable of your things, I'll bring you back the money in no time."
"You are sure?" said Kitty, beginning to yield.
"Certain—sure—positive. But you must allow me ten per cent."
"I know nothing about percentage; but you may take every scrap that is over after you have got me the eight pounds."
"Very well, that's a liberal offer," said Carrie. "Now, then, I may as well take a look at your clothes."
"Oh, it seems such an awful thing to do," said Kitty. "Are you sure, quite sure, that no one will find it out?"
"Not a bit of it; that is, if you'll be quick and not allow that other girl—Alice, you call her—to come into the room."
"I'll lock the door," said Kitty. She rushed across the room with new hope, turned the key, and came back again to Carrie.
"I never heard of anything quite so extraordinary in my life," she said.
"And you—you call yourself a lady?"