Part 8 (1/2)
”Why, Zula, did you tell her that?”
”Yes, I did.”
”Well, it was not lady-like. Now if you are to be my cousin, you must let me talk to you like a cousin. It seems to me that was saucy.”
”Now you are scolding me, too. It seems to me that people like to scold me.”
”Oh, no, Zula, I am not scolding you, and you must not blame the lady for her thoughts, for, really, you do look like a gypsy.”
Zula drew herself up proudly.
”Well,” she said. ”I can't help it, and I don't care to be told of it.”
”It's no disgrace. I have seen many a pretty gypsy girl. There was one who belonged to a tribe that camped just a little way out of the village, last summer, and she certainly was a beauty, only she was so dark.”
”Well, I don't want people to think I am one.”
”What are you doing, drawing?” Guy asked, as he discovered her pencil and book.
She covered the paper with her hand.
”Let me see it,” he said entreatingly.
”Will you promise that you will not laugh, and that you will never speak of it?”
”I promise.”
He took the book and looking at it closely, a smile pa.s.sed over his face.
”Now you are laughing at me and you said you would not.”
”Was I laughing? I really did not mean to.”
”Perhaps you didn't, but you felt laugh, just as I do when I feel angry. But tell me what do you think of it.”
”No, I would rather not.”
”You must.”
She said this with such vehemence that he started.
”Well, in that case I will.”
”Tell me, then, would you try again?”
”No, I do not believe I would, for I can see nothing to build on.”
Zula's castle fell. She looked down into the clear water, and the s.h.i.+ning pebbles lay loose and dull upon the bottom of the lake. She turned quickly toward Guy, and catching the book from his hand, while tears of mortification and injured pride stood in her eyes, she said:
”I will never tell any one anything again, never.”