Rose felt again that she was sweet and that she loved her.

She put her arm around Lucy.
"You are a dear," said she.
Lucy nestled closer.

"I know you must have thought me perfectly horrid to speak as I did to mother," said she, "but you don't understand." Lucy hesitated.

Rose waited.
"You see, the trouble is," Lucy went on, "I love mother dearly, of course.

She is the best mother that ever a girl had, but she is always so anxious about me, and she follows me about so, and I get nervous, and I know I don't always speak as I should.