"Some things are more wrong than others," said May. "It depends upon whether they do much harm or not."
Gwendolen pondered. This was a new proof of Mrs. Potten's meanness. What she, Gwen, had done had harmed nobody practically.
"I'm miserable!" she burst out.
"Poor Gwen!" murmured May.
Gwendolen lay still. Her heart was full. When she had once left the Lodgings, and was at Mrs. Potten's she would be among enemies. Now, here, at least she had one friend—some one who was not mean and didn't scold. She must speak to this one kind friend—she would tell her troubles. She must have some one to confide in.
"I didn't want to break off the engagement," she said at last, unable to keep her thoughts much longer to herself.
"You didn't want to!" said May gently. It was scarcely a question, but it drew Gwendolen to an explanation of her words.
"Mrs. Potten made me," she said.
"No one could make you," said May, quietly. "Could they?"
"She did," said Gwen, with a burst of tears. "I wanted to make it all right, and she wouldn't let me. If only I could have seen the Warden, he would have taken my side, perhaps," and here Gwen's voice became less emphatic. "But Mrs. Potten simply made me. She was determined. She hates me. I can't bear her."