Bonnibel stared at her blankly.
"You are utterly penniless," Mrs. Arnold repeated, coarsely.
"Then what am I to do?" asked the girl, gravely, twisting her little white hands uneasily together.
"What do you suppose?" the lady inquired, with a significant glance.
A scarlet banner fluttered into the white cheeks of the lovely invalid. The tone and glance of the coarse woman wounded her pride deeply.
"You will want me to go away from here, I suppose," she answered, quietly.
Mrs. Arnold straightened herself in her chair, and to Bonnibel's surprise assumed an air of wounded feeling.
"There, now, Bonnibel," said she, in a tone of reproach, "that is just like you. I never expected that you, spoiled child as you are, would ever do me justice; but do you think I could be so unfeeling as to cast you, a poor orphan child, out upon the cold charity of the world?"
Bonnibel's guileless little heart was deceived by this dramatic exhibition of fine feeling. She began to think she had done her uncle's wife injustice.
"Forgive me, aunt," she answered, gently. "I did not know what your feelings would be upon the subject. I know my uncle intended to provide for me."