“Well, we must speak softly, or we shall have Mrs Stone in upon us. Yes, I want to speak to you, and I have been trying to ‘dodge’ her all day. I hardly ever get you to myself now—not at the right time, when I have something to say.”
Fidelia spoke rapidly, as though she hardly considered what she was saying.
“Is that the trouble, dear? I am sorry,” said Eunice, gravely.
“You needn’t be sorry. Aunt Ruby is not the trouble. I am glad she is here.”
“Well, dear, tell me. You are making me anxious.”
“Something is the matter, Eunice. I do feel troubled. I feel as if there were something—something that I ought to be told. If you say there is nothing, Eunice, that will be enough.”
Eunice sat for a long time without a word, and Fidelia was saying to herself—
“When she has told me, I shall be able to forget these last few miserable days, and be as I was before. It is a bad dream, that is all, and I must forget it.”
“Yes, I will tell you. I have always wished to tell you. It is best, I am sure; and, though I may give you pain, you will be glad afterwards.”
“Yes,” said Fidelia faintly—“glad afterwards.”