“I'd rather stay out here with you,” said Ellen.
Abby looked at her again. “There is something the matter, Ellen Brewster,” said she; “you can't cheat me. You would never have run over here this way in the world. What has happened?”
“Let's go up to your room after the dishes are done, and then I'll tell you,” whispered Ellen. The men's voices on the piazza could be heard quite distinctly, and it seemed possible that their own conversation might be overheard in return.
“All right,” said Abby. “Of course I have heard about your aunt,” she added, in a low voice.
“Yes,” said Ellen, and she felt shamed and remorseful that her own affairs had been uppermost in her mind, and that Abby had supposed that she might be disturbed over this great trouble of her poor aunt's.
“I think it is dreadful,” said Abby. “I wish I could get hold of that woman.” By “that woman” she meant the woman with whom poor Jim Tenny had eloped.
“I do,” said Ellen, bitterly.
“But it's something besides that made you run over here,” said Abby.
“I'll tell you when we go up to your room,” replied Ellen.
When the dishes were finished, and the two girls in Abby's little chamber, seated side by side on the bed, Ellen still hesitated.