Carrie’s position was by no means a pleasant one. She was sincerely attached to both her friends, while they not only disliked each other cordially, but were jealous of each other’s influence. She was like a shuttle-cock kept flying between two skilful players.
“I wish you liked Susie better!” she said one day to her friend.
“You had better wish that Susan liked me,” was Florence’s reply. “How can I like her, when she treats me as if I were such a wretch that she hardly dared speak to me for fear of pollution? You know she warns you against me and thinks I am the most awful creature that ever lived.”
“Well, Florence, you know, too, that you show your very worst side to her. You always sneer at every thing good when you are with her. She thinks you have no respect for religious things at all; and sometimes I almost think so too.”
“But I have a great respect for Christian people.”
“Then why do you laugh at Susie and call her ‘Saint’?”
“Oh, because she is so solemn and so dismal and so easily shocked, and seems to set herself up for something so good.”
“Now, Florence, you are unjust. I am sure Susie is as full of fun, in her quiet way, as any of the girls.”
“Well, it’s of no use for us to talk about it. Saint Sue don’t like me, and I don’t like her; and we shall probably always remain of the same opinion. There is no love lost between us. If she could have her way, she would never let you speak to me again.”
Not long after this conversation, Susan said to her cousin,—