“Well,” said Cora at last, when they had finished sipping their coffee, “I guess we’d better get up to bed. You need a good night’s rest,” she continued, addressing their guest, “and we’ll fix you up a bed in our rooms. In the morning you will be in better shape to tell us all you care to.”
“But you ought to know all about me before you do that,” replied Nina. “It isn’t fair to you. Perhaps after you have heard why I came you may regret taking me in.”
“We’ll never be sorry for that,” declared Cora emphatically; “and I feel sure you’ve never done anything you ought to be ashamed of.”
Nina’s face glowed with gratitude at the generous speech.
“Oh, I never have!” she cried. “But I’ve been accused of doing it, and that sometimes in the eyes of the world amounts to nearly the same thing.”
She had dropped all pretence to gypsy speech now, and spoke like any other American girl of good breeding and education.
“I think I’ll tell you now,” she cried impulsively. “That is, if you’re not too tired to hear it?”
“Not a bit,” answered Cora, who was inwardly delighted.
“I’m just dying to hear it, to tell the truth,” said Bess frankly.
“So am I,” echoed her sister.