“Yes, I know I can trust you,” Orilla continued after a pause. “You’re what they call an idealist, aren’t you?”
“No, I don’t think I am,” faltered Nancy. “Why should I be?”
“Because you’re so square. I’ve read about girls like you. They always want everything just right, no tricks nor sneaking. I knew that night when you tried on that cape that you were doing something for Rosa.”
“Why? How did you know?”
“You looked it. When a girl is sneaking she doesn’t flare up and get mad the way you did,” went on the surprising Orilla and Nancy knew better than to prolong the discussion by any arguments. She merely smiled and accepted the words as they were intended.
“And since then you’ve never told,” Orilla declared, her features drawn and strained as she talked, and her eyes shifting. “You never told Rosa, for if you had she would have told me. What she knows the world knows,” said Orilla, scornfully.
“But Rosa has never said anything against you, Orilla,” spoke up Nancy. “I’m sure you ought to give her credit for that.”
“There you go again. I told you you were an idealist. But that’s all the better for me. I can trust you, too.”
This sounded like trickery to Nancy, and she said so.
“But you are lots older than I am and you ought to have lots more sense,” she pointed out. “I don’t mind helping you, if it’s something you can’t do yourself, but I must be loyal to my own family,” she insisted, firmly.