III.
Mrs. Wyatt and Constance.
Mrs. Wyatt.—"Laughing, Constance?"
Constance, with a burst of indignant tears.—"Yes, yes! Isn't it shocking? It's horrible! He made me."
Mrs. Wyatt.—"He?"
Constance, beginning to laugh again.—"Mr. Bartlett; he's been here. Oh, I wish I wouldn't be so silly!"
Mrs. Wyatt.—"Made you? How could he make you laugh, poor child?"
Constance.—"Oh, it's a long story. It was all through my bewilderment at his resemblance. It confused me. I kept thinking it was he,—as if it were some dream,—and whenever this one mentioned some trait of his that totally differed from his, don't you know, I got more and more confused, and—mamma!"—with sudden desolation—"I know he knows all about it!"