It seemed to her that any woman whose child was lost should be up and generally making a tumult, if she were doing nothing else.
The Maria, standing before the beautiful woman swaying gently, with her eyes fixed upon the pink and gold of the vase, spoke out for the first time what was in her heart of hearts with regard to her.
"You are a wicked woman," said she; "that is what you are.

I don't know as you can help being wicked.

I guess you were made wicked; but you _are_ a wicked woman.

Your mouth smiles, but your heart never does.

You act now as if you were sorry," said she, "but you are not sorry, the way my mother would have been sorry if she had lost me, the way she would have been sorry if Evelyn had been her little girl instead of yours.