This thing Joy had done had shocked her so that she felt as if she could not bear the sight of her face or touch of her hand.

Never since she was a very little child had Gypsy been known to say what was not true.

All her words were like her eyes--clear as sunbeams.
At dinner Joy did all the talking.

Mrs.Breynton asked Gypsy what was the matter, but Gypsy said "Nothing." If Joy did not choose to tell of the matter, she would not.
"What makes you so cross ?" said Joy in the afternoon; "nobody can get a word out of you, and you don't look at me any more than if I weren't here." "I don't see how you can _ask_ such a question!" exploded Gypsy, with flashing eyes.

"You know what you've done as well as I do." "No, I don't," grumbled Joy; "just 'cause I didn't tell Miss Cardrew about that horrid old cat--I wish we'd let the ugly thing alone!--I don't see why you need treat me as if I'd been murdering somebody and were going to be hung for it.