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.