"Not of telling the truth, certainly," said Letty. "But I suspect that is the last thing she troubles her head about. You know now why I would not say I liked her."
"After all, Letty, it was only a little bit of romancing," said Agnes, after a pause. "It was not telling a lie, exactly."
"I don't know what you mean by romancing. It seems to me that when a person says what is not true, with the intention of deceiving, that is nothing less than a lie."
"Then you think the intention makes the lie?"
"Of course it does," said Letty. "If I tell Gatty a story about how Ginger went to visit another cat, and what they said to each other, and what a dog said to them, there is no lie in that. Gatty knows very well that kittens and dogs cannot talk. But if I were tell her that some great lady gave me Ginger,—intending thereby to show that I was on very intimate terms with that great lady,—that would be a lie."
"Well, I must say, I wonder how you held your tongue that day," said Agnes. "I should have spoken right out."
"What good would that have done?"
"I don't know that it would have done any good; but it would have mortified her. Besides, it might have made her more careful another time."
"True, it might have had that effect; though I think it doubtful. A person who carries such a habit to Mrs. Van Horn's age is not easily cured. But you must remember, Agnes, that I was not quite sure. I had been away from Mrs. Trescott's almost a year, and I could not tell what might have happened in that time; though, from what I knew of the habits of the family, I thought the story very improbable."
"Well, Letty, I must say, it would be a good thing if every one in the world were as careful in speaking about people as you are," said Agnes, feelingly. "See, I have ripped all that, as you told me. What shall I do now?"