Mrs. Dundyke had her drawers all out, and her travelling trunk open, beginning to put things together. Mrs. Arkell went in, and closed the door.
"Betsey, you are going back, I hear; therefore I must at once ask the question that I have been intending to ask before your departure. It may sound to you somewhat premature: I don't know. Will you forget and forgive?"
"Forget and forgive what?"
"My coldness during the past years."
"I am willing to forgive it, Charlotte, if that will do you any good. To forget it is an impossibility."
Mrs. Dundyke spoke with civil indifference. She was wrapping different toilet articles in paper, and she continued her occupation. Mrs. Arkell, in a state of bitter vexation at the turn things had taken, terribly self-repentant that she should have pursued a line of conduct so inimical to her own interests, sat down on a low chair, and fairly burst into tears.
"Why, what's the matter, Charlotte?"
"You are a rich woman now, and therefore you despise us. We are growing poor."
"How can you talk such nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Dundyke, screwing down the silver stopper of a scent-bottle. "If I became as rich and as grand as a duke, it could never cause me to make the slightest difference in my conduct to anybody, high or low."
"Our intercourse has been so cold, so estranged, during this visit!"