her that she had been worse than thoughtless in asking so pointed a question of a stranger. She looked a second time at the girl, and decided that, although she wore an inexpensive, and rather dowdy cotton gown, she had an air of unmistakable refinement. Her hair was parted very carefully, and plaited in a long braid that reached nearly to her waist. It was fastened with a pale pink ribbon, as Brenda noticed when she turned to look at her wheel, and the ribbon in color and style matched the ribbon that was tied in a bow beneath her narrow linen collar.
“Why should you be sorry?” asked the girl, in rather a matter-of-fact tone.
“Why, I ought n’t to have—”
“Why, there was n’t the least harm in your asking the question,” she interrupted. “If I could have chosen, perhaps I would rather not have told you who washed the clothes. But of course you can understand that my mother is n’t a professional laundress. I was obliged to answer the question that you asked truthfully, and so I think that I ought to prevent your having any further misunderstanding.”
“If I had been you,” said Brenda, “I don’t believe that I would have answered the question.”
“Why not?” said the girl.
“It was really no concern of mine. You must think me very rude.”
“Oh, no, I am not so foolish. You meant well in asking, or at least you meant no harm.”
The young girl spoke in a serious, or almost solemn
