’Ineversaidwhatthe\"sillynotion\"was，MissBrowning；didInow，MissPhoebe？Don’tyousee，dearMissPhoebe，itisallherowninterpretation，andaccordingtoherownfancy，thisfoolishtalkaboutlovers？’Mollywasflamingwithindignation；butshehadappealedtothewrongpersonforjustice。MissPhoebetriedtomakepeaceafterthefashionofweak—mindedpersons，whowouldcoverovertheunpleasantsightofasore，insteadoftryingtohealit。’I’msureIdon’tknowanythingaboutit，mydear。ItseemstomethatwhatSallywassayingwasverytrue—verytrueindeed；andIthink，love，youmisunderstoodher；or，perhaps，shemisunderstoodyou；orImaybemisunderstandingitaltogether；sowe’dbetternottalkanymoreaboutit。WhatpricedidyousayyouweregoingtogiveforthedruggetinMrGibson’sdining—room，sister？’SoMissBrowningandMollywentontillevening，eachchafedandangrywiththeother。Theywishedeachothergood—night，goingthroughtheusualformsinthecoolestmannerpossible。Mollywentuptoherlittlebedroom，cleanandneatasabedroomcouldbe，withdraperiesofsmalldelicatepatchwork—bed—curtains，window—curtains，andcounter—pane；ajapannedtoilette—table，fulloflittleboxes，withasmalllooking—glassaffixedtoit，thatdistortedeveryfacethatwassounwiseastolookinit。Thisroomhadbeentothechildoneofthemostdaintyandluxuriousplaceseverseen，incomparisonwithherownbare，white—dimitybedroom；
andnowshewassleepinginit，asaguest，andallthequaintadornmentsshehadoncepeepedatasagreatfavour，astheywerecarefullywrappedupincap—paper，weresetoutforheruse。Andyethowlittleshehaddeservedthishospitablecare；howimpertinentshehadbeen；howcrossshehadfelteversince！Shewascryingtearsofpenitenceandyouthfulmiserywhentherecamealowtaptothedoor。Mollyopenedit，andtherestoodMissBrowning，inawonderfulerectionofanightcap，andscantilyattiredinacolouredcalicojacketoverherscrimpyandshortwhitepetticoat。’Iwasafraidyouwereasleep，child，’saidshe，cominginandshuttingthedoor。’ButIwantedtosaytoyouwe’vegotwrongto—day，somehow；
andIthinkitwasperhapsmydoing。It’saswellPhoebeshouldn’tknow，forshethinksmeperfect；andwhenthere’sonlytwoofus，wegetalongbetterifoneofusthinkstheothercandonowrong。ButIratherthinkIwasalittlecross。We’llnotsayanymoreaboutit，Molly；onlywe’llgotosleepfriends，—andfriendswe’llalwaysbe，child，won’twe？Nowgivemeakiss，anddon’tcryandswellyoureyesup；—andputoutyourcandlecarefully。’’Iwaswrong—itwasmyfault，’saidMolly，kissingher。’Fiddlestick—ends！Don’tcontradictme！Isayitwasmyfault，andIwon’thearanotherwordaboutit。’ThenextdayMollywentwithMissBrowningtoseethechangesgoingoninherfather’shouse。Tohertheywerebutdismalimprovements。Thefaintgreyofthedining—roomwalls，whichhadharmonizedwellenoughwiththedeepcrimsonofthemoreencurtains，andwhichwhenwellcleanedlookedthinlycoatedratherthandirty，wasnowexchangedforapinksalmon—colourofaveryglowinghue；andthenewcurtainswereofthatpalesea—greenjustcomingintofashion。’Verybrightandpretty，’MissBrowningcalledit；andinthefirstrenewingoftheirloveMollycouldnotbeartocontradicther。Shecouldonlyhopethatthegreenandbrowndruggetwouldtonedownthebrightnessandprettiness。Therewasscaffoldinghere，scaffoldingthere，andBettyscoldingeverywhere。’Comeupnow，andseeyourpapa’sbedroom。He’ssleepingupstairsinyours，thateverythingmaybedoneupafreshinhis。’Mollycouldjustremember，infaintclearlinesofdistinctness，thebeingtakenintothisveryroomtobidfarewelltoherdyingmother。Shecouldseethewhitelinen，thewhitemuslin，surroundingthepale，wanwistfulface，withthelarge，longingeyes，yearningforonemoretouchofthelittlesoftwarmchild，whomshewastoofeebletoclaspinherarms，alreadygrowingnumbindeath。ManyatimewhenMollyhadbeeninthisroomsincethatsadday，hadsheseeninvividfancythatsamewanwistfulfacelyingonthepillow，theoutlineoftheformbeneaththeclothes；andthegirlhadnotshrunkfromsuchvisions，butrathercherishedthem，aspreservingtohertheremembranceofhermother’soutwardsemblance。Hereyeswerefulloftears，asshefollowedMissBrowningintothisroomtoseeitunderitsnewaspect。Nearlyeverythingwaschanged—thepositionofthebedandthecolourofthefurniture；therewasagrandtoilette—tablenow，withaglassuponit，insteadoftheprimitivesubstituteofthetopofachestofdrawers，withamirroraboveuponthewall，slopingdownwards；
theselatterthingshadservedhermotherduringhershortmarriedlife。’Youseewemusthaveallinorderforaladywhohaspassedsomuchofhertimeinthecountess’smansion，’saidMissBrowning，whowasnowquitereconciledtothemarriage，thankstothepleasantemploymentoffurnishingthathaddevolveduponherinconsequence。’Cromer，theupholsterer，wantedtopersuademetohaveasofaandawriting—table。Thesemenwillsayanythingisthefashion，iftheywanttosellanarticle。Isaid，\"No，no，Cromer：
bedroomsareforsleepingin，andsitting—roomsareforsittingin。Keepeverythingtoitsrightpurpose，anddon’ttryanddeludemeintononsense。\"