“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Edith replied with a sigh; and her soft blue eyes filled with tears. Then raising her eyes imploringly to Miss Santley, and nervously taking her hand, she continued: “Oh, Mary, do not think me too forward and eager and unwomanly. Do not judge me too hardly. I know a girl should not give her heart away till she is asked for it. But I cannot help it—I love him—I love him so! I have done all I could to prevent myself from loving him, but it is no use—oh! it is no use.”
She burst into a paroxysm of passionate sobbing, and Miss Santley, without saying a word, put her arms about her and softly caressed her soft flaxen hair.
The outburst was gradually subdued, and Edith, with a hot glowing face hidden on her friend’s shoulder, was too ashamed to change her position.
“Do you feel better now, dear? asked Miss Santley in a kindly voice.
“Oh, Mary, are you not ashamed of me—disgusted?”
Miss Santley replied in a woman’s way with another kiss, and again fondled the girl’s head.
After a pause of a few moments, she gently raised her face and regarded it affectionately.
“You must come upstairs and wash away those tell-tales before he returns. And”—she added a little hesitatingly—“will you not trust me with the cause of all this trouble?”
“I am afraid you will laugh at me, dear, it must seem such a foolish cause to you. And I know you will say it was all simply my fancy.”
“What was it?”