"Thanks, dear. I feel ready to buckle on my armor for the fray. It was sweet of you to come and tell me. Must you go so soon?"
"Yes, I must. I promised Aunt Cam to send off a money order for her, and you know that takes time. Good-by."
Ethel arose, took her friend by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "You don't despise me, Gwen, and you're not angry?"
"Neither. We have different points of view, that's all. You revel in little schemes. You enjoy lying in ambush and stealing along unsuspected routes. I like the open. I hate to manoeuvre and contrive. Whatever comes to me I must get as a free untrammelled gift, not by out-generalling some one else, and then falling on the prize as if it were plunder, or loot or something of that kind."
Ethel laughed. "I am glad you are so magnanimous as to call it out-generalling instead of using some horrid word which your present virtuous state of mind might suggest. I don't say that to be nasty, my dear—about your state of mind I mean. It is only this: if for steel rails you were to read tubes of paint and rolls of canvas I don't believe you would be quite so top-loftical."
"I think you are perfectly horrid," cried Gwen, feeling the color rise to her face. "The case would be quite the same. I should never, never, never want what did not come to me freely and naturally. I'd despise myself if I won anything by scheming for it."
"Tut! tut! I am getting it now!" exclaimed Ethel. "Who says it is scheming to do your best to be sweet and agreeable, in exerting such powers of fascination as Heaven has bestowed upon you? Don't tell me you wouldn't do your level best to be nice to—"
Gwen put her hand over Ethel's mouth. "I won't hear you," she cried.
"Then don't call me names," said Ethel, freeing herself.
"I didn't."