He don't care enough about her to let her alone."
"Wall, I--don't--know!" said Grandma. "What's he stayin' for, then?"
"Staying! Lord, ma!" said Madeline sharply, with a strange cold glitter
in her eye. "How do I know what he's stayin' for? Oh," she added, in a
tone of lighter bitterness, "It's a mild winter and open roads. He's
sketching they say, and exploring the Cape. Let him explore from one end
to the other, he won't find such another fool as himself."
"We can't help nothin' by talkin' that way;" said Grandma Keeler, a
little pale, though calmly cognizant of Madeline's emotion.
"You know I had an experience of my own once, ma," said Madeline,
terribly white about the lips.
"I wouldn't rake up old wounds, daughter." There was nothing unfeeling in
Grandma Keeler's tone.
The daughter shut her lips together tightly, as though more than she had
intended to reveal had already escaped them, and applied herself
desperately to her sewing.
I fancied that I had detected a personally aggressive quality in
Madeline's indignant tone.
"I don't see why we should feel that way about Rebecca," I said. "The
more one gets acquainted with her, the more lovable and worthy of respect
she seems.
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