Kitty caught it back, and then blushed and looked distressed; for madam said gravely, as she remembered the new rule,—
"I beg your pardon, I forgot. Seal it up, my dear; I won't ask to read your secrets any more."
Kitty saw that she was hurt, and with an impulsive gesture thrust the letter into madam's hand, saying bravely, though she quaked a little at some of the things she had written,—
"Please read it. There are no secrets in it, only foolish things that mamma likes to know because they are about me. You'll think I'm a vain goose, but I'd rather you did that than think I told tales, or did any thing sly."
Thus urged, madam read the letter; and Kitty stood by, with cheeks much pinker than the paper, expecting a lecture when the last word came. But, to her great amazement, the old lady kissed her as she gave it back, and said, in a voice as gentle as if speaking to one of her own little daughters, lost long ago,—
"It is a good letter, my dear, and a true one. Give my regards to your mamma, and tell her that your suspicion about my favorite is quite correct."
VII.
KATE'S CHOICE.
"Well, what do you think of her?"
"I think she's a perfect dear, and not a bit stuck up with all her money."