“You are not formal here in East Westland, are you?”
“No,” replied Sylvia, “we ain't formal. So you want to put on—this?”
“Yes, I think I will.”
Sylvia laid the tea-gown on the bed, and turned to the trunk again.
“You know, of course, that Aunt Abrahama and mamma were estranged for years before mamma died,” said Rose. She sat before the white dressing-table watching Sylvia, and the lovely turn of her neck and her blond head were reflected in the glass above the vase of flowers.
“Yes, I knew something about it.”
“I never did know much, except that Aunt Abrahama did not approve of mamma's marriage, and we never saw her nor heard of her. Wasn't it strange,” she went on, confidentially, “how soon after poor mamma's death all my money came to me?”
Sylvia turned on her. “Have you got money?” said she. “I thought you were poor.”
“Yes, I think I have a great deal of money. I don't know how much. My lawyers take care of it, and there is a trustee, who is very kind. He is a lawyer, too. He was a friend of poor Cousin Eliza's. His name is McAllister. He lives in Chicago, but he comes to New York quite often. He is quite an old gentleman, but very nice indeed. Oh yes, I have plenty of money. I always have had ever since mamma died—at least, since a short time after. But we were very poor, I think, after papa died. I think we must have been. I was only a little girl when mamma died, but I seem to remember living in a very little, shabby place in New York—very little and shabby—and I seem to remember a great deal of noise. Sometimes I wonder if we could have lived beside the elevated road. It does not seem possible that we could have been as poor as that, but sometimes I do wonder. And I seem to remember a close smell about our rooms, and that they were very hot, and I remember when poor mamma died, although I was so young. I remember a great many people, who seemed very kind, came in, and after that I was in a place with a good many other little girls. I suppose it was a school. And then—” Rose stopped and turned white, and a look of horror came over her face.
“What then?” asked Sylvia. “Don't you feel well, child?”