“You have run away and got married, Bab.”
“Jane!”
She looked at me peircingly.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said accusingly. “Or else what are you doing with a man’s whole Outfit, including his dirty coller? Bab, I just can’t bare it.”
Well, I saw that I had gone to far, and was about to tell Jane the truth when I heard the sowing Woman in the hall. I had all I could do to get the things put away, and with Jane looking like death I had to stand there and be fitted for one of Sis’s chiffon frocks, with the low neck filled in with net.
“You must remember, Miss Bab,” said the human Pin cushon, “that you are still a very young girl, and not out yet.”
Jane got up off the bed suddenly.
“I—I guess I’ll go, Bab,” she said. “I don’t feel very well.”
As she went out she stopped in the Doorway and crossed her Heart, meaning that she would die before she would tell anything. But I was not comfortable. It is not a pleasant thought that your best friend considers you married and gone beyond recall, when in truth you are not, or even thinking about it, except in idle moments.
The seen now changes. Life is nothing but such changes. No sooner do we alight on one Branch, and begin to sip the honey from it, but we are taken up and carried elsewhere, perhaps to the Mountains or to the Sea-shore, and there left to make new friends and find new methods of Enjoyment.