"
"I know, dear. She is kind to every one, and yet Lucy makes this
difficulty when we try to give her some little return."
But Lucy hardened her heart. It was no good being kind to Miss
Bartlett. She had tried herself too often and too recently. One
might lay up treasure in heaven by the attempt, but one enriched
neither Miss Bartlett nor any one else upon earth. She was
reduced to saying: "I can't help it, mother. I don't like
Charlotte. I admit it's horrid of me."
"From your own account, you told her as much."
"Well, she would leave Florence so stupidly. She flurried--"
The ghosts were returning; they filled Italy, they were even
usurping the places she had known as a child. The Sacred Lake
would never be the same again, and, on Sunday week, something
would even happen to Windy Corner. How would she fight against
ghosts? For a moment the visible world faded away, and memories
and emotions alone seemed real.
"I suppose Miss Bartlett must come, since she boils eggs so
well," said Cecil, who was in rather a happier frame of mind,
thanks to the admirable cooking.
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