Whereupon Selina fled into the house and up to her room, and although, this time, it was an absolutely _fresh_ marseilles spread, put on clean _that_ morning, flung herself upon it and cried and cried and cried bitterly.
Mamma came in, worried and indignant. "Why did Emma McRanney expect you to know more than she did and instruct _her_? It was a good deal for her to ask anyway. And I'm sure you've just said you failed, too. Why should all your worry be for her?"
Auntie came in. "I'm sure Emma knows you did your best, Selina. And think what you've gained? A real friend in a real woman like Emma?"
That night alone in her room, Selina took her pen and her paper. The note she wrote was to Culpepper whom she had ignored for six long weeks, and it said:
I want to tell you that I've been hateful and I am sorry. I did try, however, with my pupil after the first, and try my best. Evidently my best is an inadequate thing, and unflattering to me, for she has failed. And, deciding to try for a certificate, myself, I have failed, too.
The next day, about noon, Culpepper Buxton rang the Wistar doorbell. Aunt Viney opened the door, still adjusting the apron she had tied on as she came.
"No, not Miss Ann Eliza this time, Aunt Viney. Is Miss Selina here?"
Viney, cautious soul, true to her race in this, never was known to commit herself or her white household.
"Tell her it's only for a moment, I've run 'round between classes."
Plump brown Viney, not without panting, mounted the stairs and went on back to Selina's room. "Yes'm, I knew you's here, an' I knew you's goin' to see him. But 'tain't my way, an' you know 'tain't, to keep my white folks too ready on tap. Get up f'om that sew-in'-machine, an' turn roun' an' lemme untie thet ap'on you got on. Think you's sewin' foh yo'se'f, don't you? Think it's a petticoat you's goin' to learn to make, don' you? An' firs' time you lay it down an' go off an' leave it, yo' aunt or yo' ma'll take it up foh you an' finish it."
"Aunt Viney, you do understand, don't you? And you're the only one here that does! Tell 'em I _want_ to do it, I want to make mistakes, and I want to rip 'em out and do it over again. Tell 'em so for me, won't you, Aunt Viney?"
"Go on down to thet thar youn' man. He ca'ies his haid high, but 'tain't no proof we don't ca'y our'n higher. He'n Miss Maria, his ma, ain't got it all; we're folks our own se'f."