Nancy still sobbed. Jennie opened the door of Number 40 and drew her inside.
“Don’t you let them see that you care,” commanded Jennie.
“I—I don’t care a—about them,” sobbed Nancy. “It’s—it’s because I haven’t a friend in the world.”
“Oh, don’t say that, honey,” urged the other girl, still holding Nancy in her arms after they had discarded their robes and crept between the sheets.
“It—it is so,” sobbed Nancy.
“You mean you haven’t made friends here at Pinewood?”
“I haven’t made friends anywhere,” said Nancy.
“Why—why—Surely you have some folks—some relatives——?”
Nancy’s naturally frank nature overpowered her caution here. Jennie Bruce was the first girl who had ever seemed to care about Nancy’s troubles. She did not seem curious—only kind. The lonely girl did the very thing which her caution all the time had warned her would be disastrous.
She opened her heart to Jennie Bruce.