“Is the sermon ended?” called out Florence, popping her head in at the door.
“Yes,” said Susan, pleasantly, as she came in, followed by several of the girls.
Carrie would not speak: she felt too indignant. Florence saw this, and mischievously attempted to draw her into conversation. It was in vain. At last she exclaimed,—
“Girls, I verily believe Saint Caroline is mad with me! I shouldn’t wonder if there was the material for a very good sinner in her, after all.”
This was too much for Carrie’s gravity. She laughed outright.
“Florence Anderson, you are the most provoking girl I ever saw!” she said. “You are enough to make a saint angry.”
“So I perceive,” said Florence, gravely.
From that evening Florence always spoke of Susan as “Saint Sue,” until at last it became quite the general custom to address her in that manner, greatly to Caroline’s annoyance; but if she ventured to expostulate she was in danger of being dubbed “Saint” also. But, in spite of her odd ways, Carrie could not help liking her room-mate exceedingly; for Florence had taken a fancy “to be friends with her,” and when she tried to make herself agreeable she was sure to succeed. Glaring as were her faults, she had qualities which made her a general favourite. She was, when she chose to apply herself, a very fine scholar. She was full of life and spirits and was always the leader in all sports and pastimes. She was universally cheerful and good-humoured, and never at a loss for something new in the way of amusements: in short, in whatever was going on, right or wrong, she was the leading spirit. It was quite flattering to Carrie to be singled out as a chosen companion by one who was such an acknowledged leader in the school; and perhaps this appeal to her vanity blinded her eyes to many of her new friend’s faults. Susan was in danger of no such blindness, for Florence disliked her quite as much as she liked her cousin; and, if Carrie regretted her friend’s prejudice against Sue, the latter regretted her fancy for Carrie with equal sincerity.
To show how thoroughly she disapproved of this intimacy, Susan would have nothing whatever to do with Florence, except to treat her with the most distant politeness and chilling formality. If she proposed a walk or any scheme of amusement, Susan would invariably make some excuse for not joining the party, and, not content with this, she would exert all her influence to prevent her cousin’s making one of the number. She felt that Florence was a dangerous associate; and again and again she would advise Carrie to have nothing to do with her. But her advice met the usual fate of such unwelcome counsel: it was listened to with ill-disguised impatience and at last disregarded altogether.
When Susie talked of Florence’s want of principle and steadiness, her cousin would retort that she was unreasonably prejudiced against her.