"Don't be troubled, dearest. Wait till you are calmer. We will
talk it over before bed-time in my room."

So they re-entered the city with hands clasped. It was a shock to
the girl to find how far emotion had ebbed in others. The storm
had ceased, and Mr. Emerson was easier about his son. Mr. Beebe
had regained good humour, and Mr. Eager was already snubbing Miss
Lavish. Charlotte alone she was sure of--Charlotte, whose
exterior concealed so much insight and love.

The luxury of self-exposure kept her almost happy through the
long evening. She thought not so much of what had happened as of
how she should describe it. All her sensations, her spasms of
courage, her moments of unreasonable joy, her mysterious
discontent, should be carefully laid before her cousin. And
together in divine confidence they would disentangle and
interpret them all.

"At last," thought she, "I shall understand myself. I shan't
again be troubled by things that come out of nothing, and mean I
don't know what."

Miss Alan asked her to play. She refused vehemently. Music seemed
to her the employment of a child. She sat close to her cousin,
who, with commendable patience, was listening to a long story
about lost luggage. When it was over she capped it by a story of
her own. Lucy became rather hysterical with the delay. In vain
she tried to check, or at all events to accelerate, the tale. It
was not till a late hour that Miss Bartlett had recovered her
luggage and could say in her usual tone of gentle reproach: