not choose to say it at that
moment. She held her peace, and went on arranging her flowers--now
with a more satisfied air, and without destruction to the geraniums.
And when she had grouped her bunches properly she carried the jar
from one part of the room to another, backwards and forwards, trying
the effect of the colours, as though her mind was quite intent upon
her flowers, and was for the moment wholly unoccupied with any other
subject. But Miss Dunstable was not the woman to put up with this.
She sat silent in her place, while her friend made one or two turns
about the room; and then she got up from her seat also.

"Mary," she said, "give over about those wretched bits of green
branches, and leave the jars where they are. You're trying to fidget
me into a passion."

"Am I?" said Mrs. Gresham, standing opposite to a big bowl, and
putting her head a little on one side, as though she could better
look at her handiwork in that position.

"You know you are; and it's all because you lack courage to speak
out. You didn't begin at me in this way for nothing."

"I do lack courage. That's just it," said Mrs. Gresham, still giving
a twist here and a set there to some of the small sprigs which
constituted the background of her bouquet. "I do lack courage--to
have ill motives imputed to me. I was thinking of saying something,
and I am afraid, and therefore I will not say it. And now, if you
like, I will be ready to take you out in ten minutes." But Miss
Dunstable was not going to be put off in this way. And to tell the
truth, I must admit that her friend Mrs. Gresham was not using her
altogether well. She should either have held her peace on the matter
altogether--which would probably have been her wiser course--or she
should have declared her own ideas boldly, feeling secure in her own
conscience as to her own motives. "I shall not stir from this room,"
said Miss Dunstable, "till I have had this matter out with you. And
as for imputations--my imputing bad motives to you--I don't know how
far you may be joking, and saying what you call sharp things to me;
but you have no right to think that I should think evil of you. If
you really do think so, it is treason to the love I have for you. If
I thought that you thought so, I could not remain in the house with
you. What, you are not able to know the difference which one makes
between one's real friends and one's mock friends! I don't believe
it of you, and I know you are only