Rose winced a little. "Then I wouldn't mind what I did," she
persisted, stubbornly.

"Well, I would," said Charlotte; "but maybe I don't care. Maybe all
this isn't as hard for me as it would be for another girl."
Charlotte's voice broke, but she tossed her head back with a proud
motion; she took up the dusting-cloth and fell to work again.

"Oh, Charlotte!" said Rose; "I didn't mean that. Of course I know you
care. It's awful. It was only because I didn't see how you could seem
so calm; it ain't like me. Of course I know you feel bad enough
underneath. 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. All her womanly stateliness, which made her seem so
superior to Rose, had vanished. Rose pulled her chair close to the
bed, sat down, and laid her little thin hand on Charlotte's arm, and