of the sideboard, suddenly felt sick with disgust at herself for intruding, at her sister, at John Gault.
As Viola's voice went on,—"These are apricots; they 're fifty cents. Those on that shelf are strawberry and raspberry; they are only thirty,"—Letitia's shame and indignation worked up to a climax and a resultant resolution.
She took up one of the glasses and, looking at the legend written in neat script on the paper top, said:
"I think I ought to tell you how I happened to come here. It 's really a secret and you must n't tell. What I said at first was not quite the case. No one at our house knows anything about this but me. I 'm going to buy these preserves for my brother-in-law and tell him I made them. I 'm going to fool him. Do you understand? It 's just a little joke."
Letitia delivered herself of this amazing effort at invention with admirable composure, for it was the first elaborate and important falsehood she had ever told in her life. Viola, turning from her contemplation of the shelves, looked at her, relieved but not quite comprehending.
"So I hunted you up myself at the Exchange," continued Letitia, plunging deeper into the slough of deception, but knowing now
