“You have no right to treat me so,” she wrote. “If you go away without seeing me, never call yourself my friend again!”
It seemed hard; but she had said to herself: “If he leaves me here with Carl, I shall not be able to be true to him.”
She dressed herself to go out and post these letters, and had just come down-stairs, when she met Carl in the entry. She stopped abruptly at sight of him, and a deep crimson mantled her face as she waited for him to let her pass.
It was a new blush for Edith, for she knew why she blushed. But the Spartan spirit he had admired in the child was not dead, and she was herself the next moment. She bade him a quiet “Good-morning, Carl!” and was passing on, when he asked to see her in the parlor.
“Certainly!” she said, too proud to shrink.
Carl smiled as he held the door open for her to pass, and closed it after them. He was pleased with her dignity.
“I have been talking with my mother,” he said, “and she tells me that I must go away immediately. Do you agree with her?”
Possibly she had seen, and misunderstood his smile, for she chose to be very high with him. “I do not know why you should go,” she said coldly.
“Shall I tell you why it seemed to us that I should?” he asked.
Her look changed at the tone of his voice, which seemed reproachful.