"
Peter looked blankly at her.
"The wrong thing first, Cissie?"
"Oh, yes; we--we begin on clothes and--and hair and--and that isn't the
real matter."
"Why, no-o-o, that isn't the real matter," said Peter puzzled.
Cissie looked at his face and became hopeless.
"Oh, _don't_ you understand! Lots of us--lots of us make that
mistake! I--I did; so--so, Peter, I can't go with you!" She flung out
the last phrase, and suddenly collapsed on the arm of her chair,
sobbing.
Peter was amazed. He got up, sat on the arm of his own chair next to
hers and put his arms about her, bending over her, mothering her. Her
distress was so great that he said as earnestly as his ignorance
permitted:
"Yes, Cissie, I understand now." But his tone belied his words, and the
girl shook her head. "Yes, I do, Cissie," he repeated emptily. But she
only shook her head as she leaned over him, and her tears slowly formed
and trickled down on his hand. Then all at once old Caroline's
accusation against Cissie flashed on Peter's mind. She had stolen that
dinner in the turkey roaster, after all.
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