"You can go and finish the bedrooms," mother said to me. "And take that watch away; I don't want to see it again," says she. But I wouldn't touch the watch; and Mary took it up. "No," said she; "I think you had better keep the watch for a time, Mrs. Phrynne, until Kitty has proved herself trustworthy." Mother let Mary put it into her hands; and then I ran off. Some days do seem long compared to others; and that was one of the longest I've ever known. The minutes crawled so, I didn't know how to get through them. I made the work upstairs last as long as I could, and then I sat mending, not speaking a word to anybody. It is strange now to remember how silent I was; and I do remember it, and how when Mary spoke to me I hardly answered; yet at the time I didn't feel silent. My thoughts were so busy, going round and round in a whirl. Walter—Walter—Walter—just filled my mind. I felt as if a great wall had grown up between him and me; and I longed to get beyond the wall. I couldn't respect him for the way he had gone on, and I was angry with the way he had spoken of me, and yet I couldn't bear to think that most likely he thought I had broken my promise and had betrayed him. Somehow that weighed upon me more than anything. I did long to make it all clear to him, even if he and I were never to meet again after; and the thought of never meeting made my heart come into my throat, as it were. One moment I was vexed with him, and felt how meanly and unworthily he had acted. Then the very next moment I'd see his face, as he had looked when he called me "his little Kitty," and I seemed ready to cry out with longing to have him near me again—even while in my conscience I couldn't but condemn his deceit and cowardice. Not that I let myself use any such words about him at that time. I only felt: I didn't say. A little while before dinner, father came in. I had gone upstairs again, for I was so restless I couldn't keep still; and I saw him from my window. I knew he and Mary would have a talk together about me; and I didn't go down, but left mother to get the dinner. Mother never called me, as she'd have done usually. And when I went down, father scarce looked at me. That did pierce deep, for I was used to such tenderness. It was as much as I could do to bear the change in him. I don't know much of what was said by anybody at dinner. I only know how sad and down-hearted father seemed, and how Mary looked as if she did feel for him so. But he never said a word to me all dinner-time. For I hadn't so much as told him nor mother yet that I was sorry for all I'd done. Father went off again the moment he had finished; and mother was called out to speak to somebody in the kitchen. That left Mary and me alone. I thought in a moment that she would begin by finding fault with her brother, and that I would not agree. But her first words were not what I expected; they took me altogether by surprise. "Kitty," says she, "what am I to say to Walter from you?"