"I must talk. I've got to tell--I've got to tell _you_. And you can explain--to the family. You always understand everything--and you never blame anybody. I often wonder why it is--you're so good yourself--and yet you never say a word against any living creature, or let anybody else do it when you're around; but lots of girls, who've--done just what I have--and didn't happen to get found out--are the ones who speak most bitterly and cruelly--I know two or three who will be just _glad_ if they know--" "They're not going to know." "Then you will listen, and--and believe me--and _help_?" "Yes, Edith." "I thought it happened only in books, or when girls had no one to take care of them--not to girls with fathers and mothers and good homes--didn't you, Sylvia?" "No, dear. I knew it happened sometimes--oh, more often than _sometimes_--to girls--just like you." "And what happens afterwards?" Sylvia shuddered, but it was too dark in the carefully shuttered room for Edith to see her. She said quite quietly: "That depends. In many cases--nothing dreadful." "Ever anything good?" "Yes, yes, _good_ things can happen. They can be _made_ to." "Will you make good things happen to me?" "I will, indeed I will." "And not hate me?" "Never that." "May I tell you now?" "If you believe that it will make you feel better; and if you will promise, after you have told me, to let me give you the treatment you need." "I promise--Do you remember that in the spring Hugh Elliott came to spend a couple of months with Fred?" Sylvia's fingers twitched, but all she said was, "Yes, Edith." "He used to be in love with Sally; but he got all over that. He said he was in love with me. I thought he was--he certainly acted that way. Saying--fresh things, and--and always trying to touch me--and--that's the way men usually do when they begin to fall in love, isn't it, Sylvia?" "No, darling, not _usually_--not--some kinds of men." And Sylvia's thoughts flew back, for one happy instant, to the man who had knelt at her feet on Christmas night. "But--I know what you mean--" "And--I liked it. I mean, I thought the talk was fun to listen to, and that the--rest was--oh, Sylvia, do you understand--" "Yes, dear, I understand." "And he was awfully jolly, and gave me such a good time. I felt flattered to think he didn't treat me like a child, that he paid me more attention than the older girls." "Yes, Edith." "And I thought what fun it would be to marry him, instead of some slow, poky farmer, and have a beautiful house, and servants, and lovely clothes. I kept thinking, every night, he would ask me to; but he didn't. And finally, one time, just before we got home after a dance, he said--he was going away in the morning." "Yes, Edith."