"It is too easy to forgive you—you were more unkind to yourself than to me."
"How?" said Lucy.
"Because such things make the heart grow hard."
Lucy was silent, for a moment, and then exclaimed—
"How I wish I were married, and had a home to offer you of my own. Then you should not have such an old, poky bed-room as Caroline has looked out for you—I had such a quarrel with her about it. She is jealous, because I said you were beautiful, I know she is."
"Ah, Lucy," said Mabel, "how unkind to try and expose the weaknesses of a sister—remember the fable of the bundle of sticks. For myself, knowing that I do not deserve her unkindness, I shall not feel it. I own it is a trial—but as I am dependent on your mamma's kindness, by my own choice, and by my wish to please her, and not of necessity, and I can and will assert my independence when I please—it is quite a different thing."
"Are you going to be married then?"
"No, no," said Mabel, smiling; "I will tell you what I mean another day—perhaps I do not quite know how myself—I only know I will if I see it best—but do not let us talk of that now."
So saying, she took up a skein of silk which Caroline had been attempting to wind.
"Never mind that," said Lucy, "that is Caroline's, and she will never thank you for the trouble you take."