away her parcel, and presently Mrs. Forest's rasping voice recalled her
from her stupefied reverie.

"So you spent it in gloves, did you? Six-buttoned ones, too--! Oh, you
ungrateful, selfish, wasteful girl."

"Mother, mother," wailed Nancy, taking hold of Mrs. Forest's gown with
one hand convulsively, while she pressed the other to her brow, where
her wavy locks of hair lay all damp and ruffled. "You _should_
believe--you _must_ believe me--Miss Michin gave me the gloves--I have
never seen your money--oh, mother, I couldn't have touched it--I
_couldn't_."

"Don't add lies to it," broke out Mrs. Forest in a greater passion than
ever.

Than this last remark, nothing could have easily been more unjust. Nancy
had always been a very truthful child.

"If you can no longer trust me, it is perhaps better for me--to--to go
away," said Nancy, softly.

"Yes--go--go now," replied her mother, who had arrived at that stage of
rage when people use words little heeding their meaning.

Nancy buttoned her little jacket once more, and tied a silk handkerchief
round her neck, and passed out at the door in a wild, hurried fashion.

Mrs. Forest looked at the door and smiled. "She'll none go," she said to
herself; "where could she go _to_?"