’ Martha got up with a swish of her black habit. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. You’re a good friend. And yet the moment I am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in my rags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, all on my reputation. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. I’ve been on the watch for you. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. To tell someone who is kind and who will understand!" "There, there!" he said. Martha was quite right. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. But she made no answer.
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