You have not."
Peg suddenly blazed up:
"Well, I've been made to feel it," and she glared passionately at
her aunt. "Why wasn't I told this before? If I'd known it I'd never
have stayed with ye a minnit Who are YOU, I'd like to know, to bring
me up any betther than me father? He's just as much a gentleman as
any of yez. He never hurt a poor girl's feelin's just because she
was poor. Suppose he hasn't any money? Nor ME? What of it? Is it a
crime? What has yer money an' yer breedin' done for you? It's dried
up the very blood in yer veins, that's what it has! Yer frightened
to show one real, human, kindly impulse. Ye don't know what
happiness an' freedom mean. An' if that is what money does, I don't
want it. Give me what I've been used to--POVERTY. At least I can
laugh sometimes from me heart, an' get some pleasure out o' life
without disgracin' people!"
Peg's anger gave place to just as sudden a twinge of regret as she
caught sight of Ethel, white-faced, and staring at her
compassionately. She went across to Ethel and buried her face on her
shoulder and wept as she wailed.
"Why WASN'T I told! I'd never have stayed! Why wasn't I told?"
And Ethel comforted her:
"Don't cry, dear," she whispered. "Don't. The day you came here we
were beggars.
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