"I guess she'll get along now," she said, without the critical tone which
Annie was prepared to resent. "She was scared some, and she felt kind of
strange, I presume."
"Yes, and I behaved like a simpleton, dressing up the cat, I suppose,"
answered Annie. "But I thought it would amuse her."
"You can't tell how children will take a thing. I don't believe they like
anything that's out of the common--well, not a great deal."
There was a leniency in Mrs. Bolton's manner which encouraged Annie to go
on and accuse herself more and more, and then an unresponsive blankness
that silenced her. She went back to her own rooms; and to get away from her
shame, she began to write a letter.
It was to a friend in Rome, and from the sense we all have that a letter
which is to go such a great distance ought to be a long letter, and from
finding that she had really a good deal to say, she let it grow so that
she began apologising for its length half a dozen pages before the end.
It took her nearly the whole afternoon, and she regained a little of her
self-respect by ridiculing the people she had met.