"Betty," she said tenderly, "poor little Betty, what is it?"
With a start Betty lifted her face, and somewhat to Mrs. Hamilton's surprise, grew suddenly very red.
"It isn't anything," she said, beginning a hasty search for her handkerchief, "only—only, I'm a horrid, wicked girl."
"Betty, dear, what do you mean?" Mrs. Hamilton sat down on the sofa and put an arm affectionately around the trembling child. "Don't you know what a great help you have been to Miss Clark and me? Why, I have never seen a more thoughtful, sensible little girl."
"I am wicked, though," Betty maintained stoutly; "I'm jealous. I don't like to have Jack so happy without me."
Mrs. Hamilton with some difficulty repressed a smile.
"Jealousy is a very common fault in all of us, Betty," she said, "but I am sure you wouldn't like it if Jack were unhappy and fretting."
"No, oh, no, I shouldn't like that!—but"—with a stifled sob—"he did seem to be having such a good time, and I'm so unhappy and so worried about mother."
"I know you are worried about your mother, dear, but we all think her a little better to-day, and Dr. Bell says that if she continues to improve for the next twenty-four hours he hopes she will be out of all danger. And now, Betty, I am going to tell you something that I know you will be glad to hear. It is about Jack."