Hester's mouth twitched.
"Well, I'm not that kind exactly! I don't paint because—well, I suppose
I needn't! And I don't play for money, because I've nobody to play with.
As for letting men lend you money—"
"That you would never disgrace yourself by doing!" said Catharine sharply.
Hester's look was enigmatic.
"Well, I never did it. But I knew a girl in London—very pretty—and as mad as you like. She was an orphan and her relatives didn't care twopence about her. She got into debt, and a horrid old man offered to lend her a couple of hundred pounds if she'd give him a kiss. She said no, and then she told an older woman who was supposed to look after her. And what do you suppose she said?"
Catharine was silent.
"'Well, you are a little fool!' That was all she got for her pains. Men are villains—I think! But they're exciting!" And Hester clasped her hands behind her head, and looked at the ceiling, smiling to herself, while the dressing-gown sleeves fell back from her rounded arms.
Catharine frowned. She suddenly rose, and kneeling down by Hester's chair, she took the girl in her arms.
"Hester, dear!—if you want a friend—whenever you want a friend—come to me! If you are ever in trouble send for me. I would always come—always!"
She felt the flutter of the girl's heart as she enfolded her. Then Hester lightly freed herself, though her voice shook—