“It would be a great deal pleasanter for you to live abroad,” said Judy, “and for us too. Your coming is sure to revive unpleasant memories.”
Vivienne turned around swiftly. “What do you mean by unpleasant memories?”
Judy stared at her. “Don’t you know all about yourself—about your father?”
“I know that my father was obliged to work for his living,” said Vivienne proudly, “and that he served Colonel Armour long and faithfully. I see nothing unpleasant about that.”
“No, that is not unpleasant,” said Judy. “But on your word of honor, do you know nothing more?”
“I am at a loss to understand your meaning,” said Vivienne coldly.
“And you will continue at a loss,” replied her new friend doggedly, “for I shall tell you nothing further. I am usually fond of gossip; now I shall hold my tongue.”
Vivienne looked into the little, shrewd, not unkindly face and smiled. “You are an odd girl. How old are you?”
“Sixteen when I’m not sixty,” said the younger girl wearily. “I hate to live and I hate to die; and I hate everything and everybody.”
“Why do you talk like that?” asked Vivienne caressingly.