"But I've been on the other side all my life, and--" yes, she would say this--"Mrs. Boyd's health was so broken that if it had not been for Mrs. Barrington's kind offer I must have given up school and gone into a factory; and began to repay her for her kindly care of me." She felt the curious sort of shrinking that passed over him. "But you didn't," he said, decisively. "And if she had let you alone----" "But she was sure my mother was dead. Oh, nothing can ever make me forget her tender, devoted love. I cannot bear to have her blamed." "But you must not dispute the matter with father. Let it all go since it has turned out so fortunately. I love you for your courage in standing by her, but there are many things you will learn--beliefs and usages of society. I don't mean simply money. We Crawfords have no vulgarity with a gold veneer; and, my dear girl, you may tell all your life with Mrs. Boyd over to mother, indeed, I think she will want to know it all; but--be careful about Aunt Kate--" "And I _was_ the caretaker's daughter at Mrs. Barrington's. Oh, I have seen some snobbishness among what you call well-born girls. I am not a whit better or finer than I was a month ago, when I expected to work my way up to a good salary and strive earnestly for everything I had; and Mrs. Barrington would have helped me and been really proud of my success." "What a spirit you have!" "I shall never be a snob," she flung out, proudly. "I do not intend to be one myself. Oh, don't let us dispute these points. We all learn a good deal as we go along life. And, my dear, love us all as truly as you loved your foster mother. Oh, I wonder if you can ever understand your own mother's joy at having you back--" "Which she owes largely to Mrs. Boyd. Suppose she had died without this--this explanation?" "Even she understood that you did not belong in her walk of life. She saw the difference and that made her feel she might have deprived you of something better, that she could not give you." That was true enough. But just now she was Lilian Boyd and angry, though she could not satisfy herself that she had a perfect right to this unreasonableness. So she made no reply. "Oh, Marguerite, don't be vexed with me. We shall not see each other for a long while, and I want to carry away with me the knowledge that you are very happy in your new home. You will have so many pleasures, interests; you will be loved; oh, you must be loving, as well. Let the past go as a strange dream." "It can never be a dream to me," she returned, decisively. "A thing you have lived through is stamped on your brain. I would not, if I could, dismiss it." "Then I think that other love and care will make as deep an impression on your mind. Good-night, my dear sister, and best wishes for a happy tomorrow." He kissed her fondly and turned away. She looked after him with a swelling heart.