“O no, ma’am! I would not blot any lady’s book for the world.”
Mrs. Adair now turned to Miss Arden: “my dear, have you been amusing yourself with your companion’s book?”
“No, ma’am.”
“The mystery, I think, will soon be explained: and I fear I shall find that there has been more artifice than truth in a young lady’s assertion. Come hither, Isabella, I wish to speak to you.”
Little Isabella’s features betrayed confusion and terror: and as she slowly walked up the room, she burst into tears. “Do not be afraid,” said Mrs. Adair, in a soothing tone of voice, “I am not angry with you. Tell me plainly how it was. What did your sister say to you?”
“O, ma’am, she said—O dear, I wish I were at home—”
“Come, speak the truth, my dear. You know you are one of my best little girls. Tell me how you were led into this error. Speak openly, and do not be afraid.”
“I have not done it—I mean, I have—O dear, where is mamma?”
“Happy at home, I make no doubt. But were papa and mamma here, it would make no difference, for I must have the truth. Did you mark this book?”
“O dear, yes, ma’am! but I would not have done it, but I must do it. O, sister, you know—you do know—and you will pinch me so! Do, dear, good Mrs. Adair, tell her not to pinch me, for I know I shall scream!”