Martha wasn't succeeding in regaining her composure. Emily attempted to take her coat off, but thought it better not to bother her. She just lay and cried. And she had never been a crying child. Emily had seen to that. All these tears, all this passion of repentance, showed what a loving little heart she had. "How I have wronged the child!" Emily mused, wiping her eyes. "I thought she might not come at all!" And she caressed her, and waited patiently. "Don't cry any more now, Martha," she said. "We'll forget all about it."
"Oh, I wish I'd been a good girl!" And having said that, she wept on.
She cried too long.
Emily said, presently: "Your feet are making a mark on the bedspread. Get up. Take off your coat."
"I'm cold, mammie." She sat up, fumbled about, and kicked off her low shoes, and lay down again, trying to cuddle her feet up under her coat.
"Cold?" The room had been so hot a moment ago that Emily had the windows both opened. She got up and went and shut them.
"Where's your baggage?" she asked in a matter-of-fact way, to stop the tears.
"I had it taken to my room."
"Your room?"
"I took a room for myself. I didn't know you would have two beds in here."