And then, after they had enjoyed their cold supper, and while Jean was lying back in an extraordinarily comfortable couch which yet looked oddly big for the little room, her friend exclaimed:
“Perhaps I’d better tell you now that you’re really on what’s going to be your bed. I’ve thought it over, and though I should have been delighted to give you my bedroom and to have slept in here, I somehow felt that you’d far rather sleep here and leave me my bedroom, eh?”
“Indeed, indeed, I would!” exclaimed Jean.
“I know,” the other nodded. “I once went to stay with a friend, and I can’t tell you what I felt when I discovered the next day that she had turned out of her room and slept in the kitchen!”
Jean Bower awoke to find her friend smiling down at her. There was a cup of tea in her hand.
“Now then, you just drink this up. Then I’ll light the fire, and after I’ve done that I’ll bring you those clothes I told you about. I’ve just had a look at them. They’re old-fashioned and ugly, but I don’t know that that really matters. After all, your object is to look the part——”
Jean sat up and drank the tea thirstily. Oh! how restful to be here with this quiet, reserved young woman who, while obviously sympathizing with her, was not in the least inquisitive.
She caught Rachel North’s hand and pulled her down.
“You know I’m grateful to you, without my saying so,” she whispered. “I shall never forget how good you’ve been!”
“I’ve not been more good to you than two or three people were to me, in my deep trouble. But I took my trouble in a way I hope you will never do, Jean,” replied the other girl. “I cut myself off from everybody after my father’s death. I was wrong in that—I see it now. But I was so unhappy”—her face altered, it became convulsed with feeling, and she turned quickly away, busying herself in making and lighting the fire.