She had been scolded too often by this dear recluse to resent
it; she had, too, faith in anything he might say.
Then: "You just ought to know Robin," she burst out, irrelevantly, eager
that her old teacher should believe that, even though she might be a
selfish, thoughtless girl herself, she could recognize and respect the
good qualities in others.
"Forgive your old friend if he has hurt you. Go now to your blessed
mother and lay your good fortune at her feet. That I might see her
face!"
"And if she wants to use--_some_ of the money, will you help me?" asked
Beryl, in a meek voice.
"Ah, most surely. And proudly."
Beryl rode back to Miss Erne's in a contritely humble mood.
"I wish there were some sort of medicine one could take to make them
better inside their hearts! I wouldn't care _how_ nasty it tasted," she
mourned, impatient at the long, hard climb that must be hers if she ever
made of herself what her Jacques Henri wanted.
All of Miss Effie's coaxing could not keep Beryl from taking the
afternoon train to Wassumsic.
"I must tell my mother about the beads--at once!" she answered, firmly.
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