outraged; her brother had been insulted by this child who owed his
sisters gratitude; the family had been held up to scorn, and
Henrietta, aware of what she had done and of her obligations, was
overwhelmed with regret, with confusion, with the sense that, after
all, it was she who really loved and understood her father.

'We will excuse you, Henrietta, if you have finished your dessert,'
Caroline said. She had a great dignity.

This was a dismissal and Henrietta stood up. She could not take back
her words, for they were true: she did not know how to apologize for
their manner; she felt she would have to leave the house to-morrow and
she had a sudden pride in Aunt Caroline and in her own name. But there
was nothing she could do.

Most unexpectedly, Rose intervened. 'You must forgive Henrietta's
bitterness,' she said quietly. 'It is natural.'

'But her own father!' Sophia remonstrated tearfully, and added
tenderly, 'Ah, poor child!'

Henrietta dropped into her chair. She wept without concealment. 'It
isn't that I didn't love him,' she sobbed.

'Ah, yes, you loved him,' Sophia said. 'So did we.' She dabbed her
face with her lace handkerchief. 'It is Rose who knows nothing about
him,' she said, with something approaching anger. 'Nothing!'

'Perhaps that is why I understand,' Rose said.