There had been so little communication between these two⁠—both because life at Stone Lodge went monotonously round like a piece of machinery which discouraged human interference, and because of the prohibition relative to Sissy’s past career⁠—that they were still almost strangers. Sissy, with her dark eyes wonderingly directed to Louisa’s face, was uncertain whether to say more or to remain silent.

“You are more useful to my mother, and more pleasant with her than I can ever be,” Louisa resumed. “You are pleasanter to yourself, than I am to my self.”

“But, if you please, Miss Louisa,” Sissy pleaded, “I am⁠—O so stupid!”

Louisa, with a brighter laugh than usual, told her she would be wiser by-and-by.