"Of course I'm not. I—I'd be afraid."
"Afraid—oh, Letty."
"Yes, I would. I've never worn such things. I'd be afraid I'd get a spot on it, and it wouldn't come out. Now when a woman like me has a thing like that she just lays it away to look at. Then she always knows that she has one lovely garment. But if she wears it, she feels that the day will come when it will be gone, and then—she won't own one beautiful thing in the wide world—not one single beautiful thing."
Bettina bent over her soothingly. "There," she said, "you wear it once, Letty, and then, if you wish, you can put it away."
Late at night, Anthony came on his last round of calls and urged that Bettina should have a nurse to take her place. But Bettina refused.
"I took care of mother alone," she said. "I can surely do this."
Every moment that she was with him she was conscious of the difference in her attitude toward him. She had a nervous fear that he might notice the change in her, that he might read her heart with his keen eyes.
But he seemed preoccupied, and just before he went away he said:
"You haven't promised me one thing, Bettina."