"I am afraid," she said, "that I deserve rebuke.

I was so anxious to cheer you that I fear I have tired you.

Shall I take Miss Laura with me, or would you like to have her a little longer ?" My mother grasped my hand.

"You are very kind," she said to Miss Reinhart, "but I am weak and nervous; so little tires me." "Yes, it is very sad," she answered, in cold, sweet tones.
I hated her voice, I hated her sweetness, I hated her.

Child as I was, a tempest of scorn and grief and bitter rebellion raged within me.