"About a week ago, when we were spending an evening at Mrs. Trueman's."
"Cannot you remember something which you then said that might have wounded her?"
"No, I believe not. I have tried several times to recall what I then said, but I can think of nothing but a light jest which I passed upon her about her certainly coming of a crazy family."
"Surely you did not say that, Louisa!"
"Yes, I did. And I am sure that I thought no harm of it. We were conversing gayly, and she was uttering some of her peculiar, and often strange sentiments, when I made the thoughtless and innocent remark I have alluded to. No one replied, and there was a momentary silence that seemed to me strange. From that time her manner changed. But I have never believed that my playful remark was the cause. I think her a girl of too much good sense for that."
"Have you never heard that her father was for many years in the hospital, and at last died there a raving maniac?" asked Mrs. Appleton with a serious countenance.
"Never," was the positive answer.
"It is true that such was his miserable end, Louisa."
"Then it is all explained. Oh, how deeply I must have wounded her!"
"Deeply, no doubt. But it cannot be helped. The wound, I trust, is now nearly healed." Then, after a pause, Mrs. Appleton resumed: