The next few days that passed were like a dream to Miss Rogers. Every
one was so kind and considerate it seemed that she was living in another
world.
Mrs. Pendleton had cautioned the girls against mentioning the fact of
Sally's coming marriage, explaining that she might change her mind about
leaving her fortune to the family if she knew there was a prospect of
wealth for them from any other source.
"But it would not be fair to let her make sister Sally her heiress,"
said Louisa, bitterly. "She ought not to get both fortunes. She will
come into a magnificent fortune through marrying Jay Gardiner. Why
should you want her to have Miss Rogers' money, too? You ought to
influence that eccentric old lady to leave her fortune to _me_."
"Hush, my dear. Miss Rogers might hear you," warned her mother.
But the warning had come too late. In coming down the corridor to join
the family in the general sitting-room, as they had always insisted on
her doing, she had overheard Miss Louisa's last remark.
She stopped short, the happy light dying from her eyes, and the color
leaving her cheeks.
"Great Heaven! have I been deceived, after all? Was the kindness of the
Pendleton girls and their parents only assumed? Was there a monetary
reason back of it all?" she mused.
A great pain shot through her heart; a wave of intense bitterness filled
her soul.
"I will test these girls," muttered Miss Rogers, setting her lips
together; "and that, too, before another hour passes over my head."
After a few moments more of deliberation, she arose, and with firm step
passed slowly down the broad hall to the sitting-room.
Mrs. Pendleton and her eldest daughter Louisa had left the apartment.
Sally alone was there, lounging on a divan, her hair in curl-papers,
reading the latest French novel.
On her entering, down went the book, and Sally sprung up, her face
wreathed in smiles.
"I was just wondering if you were lonely or taking a nap," she
murmured, sweetly. "Do come right in, Miss Rogers, and let me draw the
nicest easy-chair in the room up to the cool window for you and make you
comfortable."
"How considerate you are, my dear child," replied Miss Rogers, fairly
hating herself for believing this sweet young girl could dissemble. "I
am glad to find you alone, Sally," she continued, dropping into the
chair with a weary sigh. "I have been wanting to have a confidential
little chat with you, my dear, ever since I have been here. Have you the
time to spare?"
Sally Pendleton's blue eyes glittered. Of course Miss Rogers wanted to
talk to her about leaving her money to her.
Sally brought a hassock, and placing it at her feet, sat down upon it,
and rested her elbows on Miss Rogers' chair.
"Now," she said, with a tinkling little laugh that most every one liked
to hear--the laugh that had given her the _sobriquet_, jolly Sally
Pendleton, among her companions--an appellation which had ever since
clung to her--"now I am ready to listen to whatever you have to tell
me."
After a long pause, which seemed terribly irksome to Sally, Miss Rogers
slowly said:
"I think I may as well break right into the subject that is on my mind,
and troubling me greatly, without beating around the bush."
"That will certainly be the best way," murmured Sally.
"Well, then, my dear," said Miss Rogers, with harsh abruptness, "I am
afraid I am living in this house under false colors."
Sally's blue eyes opened wide. She did not know what to say.
"The truth is, child, I am not the rich woman people credit me with
being. I did not tell you that I had lost my entire fortune, and that I
was reduced to penury and want--ay, I would have been reduced to
starvation if you had not so kindly taken me in and done for me."
"What! You have lost your great fortune? _You are penniless?_" fairly
shrieked Sally, springing to her feet and looking with amazement into
the wrinkled face above her.
Miss Rogers nodded assent, inwardly asking Heaven to pardon her for
this, her first deliberate falsehood.
"And you came here to us, got the best room in our house, and all of
mamma's best clothes, and you a beggar!"
Miss Rogers fairly trembled under the storm of wrath she had evoked.
"I--I did not mention it when I first came, because I had somehow hoped
you would care for me for myself, even though my money was gone, dear
child."
A sneering, scornful laugh broke from Sally's lips, a glare hateful to
behold flashed from her eyes.
"You have deceived us shamefully!" she cried. "How angry papa and mamma
and Louisa will be to learn that we have been entertaining a pauper!"
"Perhaps you have been entertaining an angel unawares," murmured Miss
Rogers.
"God forgive you, girl, for showing so little heart!" exclaimed Miss
Rogers, rising slowly to her feet.
"I shall take no saucy remarks from you!" cried Sally, harshly. "Come,
make haste! Take off those fine clothes, and be gone as fast as you
can!"
"But I have nothing to put on," said Miss Rogers.
Sally instantly touched the bell, and when the maid came in response to
her summons, she said, quickly:
"Bring me that bundle of clothes mamma laid out for you to give to the
charity collector to-day."
Wonderingly the maid brought the bundle, and she wondered still more
when Miss Sally ordered her to go down to the servants' hall, and not to
come up until she was called for.
"Now, then," she cried, harshly, after the door had closed upon the
maid, "get into these duds at once!"
Miss Rogers obeyed; and when at length the change was made, Sally
pointed to the door and cried, shrilly:
"Now go!"
"But the storm!" persisted Miss Rogers, piteously. "Oh, Sally, at least
let me stay until the storm has spent its fury!"
"Not an instant!" cried Sally Pendleton, fairly dragging her from the
room and down the corridor to the main door, which she flung open,
thrust her victim through it, and out into the storm.