She and I were as close friends as I would permit her to be.

Father had neglected us for years, though how much he had neglected and ill-treated her I did not know until she told me, afterward.

She was in delicate health even then, but, when the blow fell, it was she and not I who bore up bravely and it was her pluck and nerve, not mine, which pulled us through that dreadful time.
And it was dreadful.

The stories and pictures in the papers! The rumors, always contradicted, that the embezzler had been caught! The misrepresentation and lies and scandal! The loss of those whom we had supposed were friends! Mother bore them all, wore a calm, brave face in public, and only when alone with me gave way, and then but at rare intervals.

She clung to me as her only comfort and hope.