I think her usual penetration must have discovered this, for if she had thought my tears were really those of passion, she would not, could not have acted as she did.
She drew me gently to her, and kissed me without speaking.

I threw my arms round her neck, and in a voice almost choked by sobs, implored her again and again to forgive me; that I did not mean to answer her so disrespectfully--that I knew I had become a very wicked girl, but that I really did feel very unhappy.

For a few minutes she was silent, and I could see was struggling to suppress the tears my unusual conduct had occasioned.

I will make no apology, dearest Mary, for entering on such minute details; for I know how you love my mother, and that every word she says is _almost_ as precious to you as to her own children--_quite_ it cannot be; and I give you this account also, that you may know me as I am, and not imagine I am so free from faults as I know you once believed me.

Oh, when I have looked back on that day, I have felt so painfully humiliated, I would gladly banish the recollection; but it is better for me to remember it, lest I should fancy myself better than I am.