"And she seems to admire you immensely. What is it? What have you seen in her? what do you know about her?"
"I don't know anything about her for anybody else, only I—It is entirely my feeling; it needn't prejudice anybody else," cried Hope, dismayed.
Kate Van der Berg was a warm-hearted, demonstrative girl, and at the trouble in Hope's voice and in her face she flung her arms around her, and said,—
"There, there, never mind about her or what I said. It's all right; or you are all right, whatever she may be."
Hope put her cheek down upon Kate's shoulder for a moment; then suddenly lifting her head, she burst out,—
"No, no, you mustn't think as you do, that there's anything very bad that I'm holding back. I mustn't let you think so; it would be wicked in me. It is only just about myself,—something that she said to me long ago,—five years ago. She's forgotten it; she's forgotten me. I only met her for a few minutes, two or three times."
"The disagreeable thing! I shall hate her!" Kate cried impulsively.
"No, no, don't say so. I dare say you would have liked her if I—if I could have kept what I felt to myself, and I thought I did, I thought I did. Oh, dear!" and Hope stopped abruptly, as she realized that her own excitement was making matters worse.
"Liked her! Not if she could have said anything bad enough to hurt you like this,—to have hurt you for five years."
"It doesn't hurt me as it did then, but I remember it."