“Well, I wouldn’t,” said Charlotte.

“I would, if I was sure he thought as much of me as I did of him.”

Charlotte looked at her proudly.  “I’m sure enough of that,” said she.

Rose winced a little.  “Then I wouldn’t mind what I did,” she persisted, stubbornly.

“Well, I would,” said Charlotte; “but maybe I don’t care.  Maybe all this isn’t as hard for me as it would be for another girl.”  Charlotte’s voice broke, but she tossed her head back with a proud motion; she took up the dusting-cloth and fell to work again.

“Oh, Charlotte!” said Rose; “I didn’t mean that.  Of course I know you care.  It’s awful.  It was only because I didn’t see how you could seem so calm; it ain’t like me.  Of course I know you feel bad enough underneath.  Your wedding-clothes all done and everything.  They are pretty near all done, ain’t they, Charlotte?”

“Yes,” said Charlotte.  “They’re—­pretty near—­done.”  She tried to speak steadily, but her voice failed.  Suddenly she threw herself on the bed and hid her face, and her whole body heaved and twisted with great sobs.

“Oh, poor Charlotte, don’t!” Rose cried, wringing her own hands; her face quivered, but she did not weep.

“Maybe I don’t care,” sobbed Charlotte; “maybe—­I don’t care.”

“Oh, Charlotte!” Rose looked at Charlotte’s piteous girlish shoulders shaken with sobs, and the fair prostrate girlish head.  Charlotte all drawn up in this little heap upon the bed looked very young and helpless.  All her womanly stateliness, which made her seem so superior to Rose, had vanished.  Rose pulled her chair close to the bed, sat down, and laid her little thin hand on Charlotte’s arm, and Charlotte directly felt it hot through her sleeve.  “Don’t, Charlotte,” Rose said; “I’m sorry I spoke so.”

“Maybe I don’t care,” Charlotte sobbed out again.  “Maybe I don’t.”

“Oh, Charlotte, I’m sorry,” Rose said, trembling.  “I do know you care; don’t you feel so bad because I said that.”

Rose tightened her grasp on Charlotte’s arm; her voice changed suddenly.  “Look here, Charlotte,” said she, “I’ll do anything in the world I can to help you; I promise you that, and I mean it, honest.”

Charlotte reached around a hand, and clasped her cousin’s.

“I’m sorry I spoke so,” Rose said.

“Never mind,” Charlotte responded, chokingly.  She sobbed a little longer from pure inertia of grief; then she raised herself, shaking off Rose’s hand.  “It’s all right,” said she; “I needn’t have minded; I know you didn’t mean anything.  It was just—­the last straw, and—­when you said that about my wedding-clothes—­”

“Oh, Charlotte, you did speak about them yourself first,” Rose said, deprecatingly.

“I did, so nobody else would,” returned Charlotte.  She wiped her eyes, drooping her stained face away from her cousin with a kind of helpless shame; then she smoothed her hair with the palms of her hands.  “I know you didn’t mean any harm, Rose,” she added, presently.  “I got my silk dress done last Wednesday; I wanted to tell you.”  Charlotte tried to smile at Rose with her poor swollen lips and her reddened eyes.