“Like me?” Ada laughed shortly. “You wouldn’t for the world.”
“Yes, I would.” Lily took her friend’s hand in her own. “I’d give anything in the world to be like you. You don’t know what a trouble I am to my mother and father! They’re always in some kind of stew or other over me, and I can’t help it, because I’m always getting myself into such fearful messes. You never trouble your family; you’re always a comfort to ’em. You aren’t romantic and imaginative and sentimental and fly-off-the-handle, the way I am. You’re steady and reliable, and people always know exactly where to find you.”
But upon this, Ada looked puzzled. “Is that so?” she asked, gravely. “Is that how I seem to you, Lily?”
“To me? Good heavens! Don’t you know that’s the way everybody thinks of you? Everybody knows you’re dependable;—you’re what they call ‘so satisfactory,’ Ada. Your family and everybody else know you’ll never do anything reckless or susceptible or dreamy. Nobody on earth knows what I’ll do, because I don’t myself. Just look at the difference between us!”
With that, as if the bodily contrast of the two expressed the contrast in character she had in mind, Lily extended her arms sidewise from her in an emotional gesture inviting an inspection of herself foredoomed to be damning; then pointed dramatically at Ada. “Just look at you and then look at me,” she cried. “See what a terrible difference it is!”
She dropped her arms to her sides, submitting her case to an invisible jury, who might well have returned a verdict that at least the outward difference was pleasant rather than terrible. In the twilight beneath the trees the fair-haired and ethereal Lily, in her slim gray dress, seemed to be made of a few wisps of mist and a little gold. About her was a plaintive grace, not a quality of her dark-eyed and more substantial companion; yet both girls were comely; both were of the peach-bloom age that follows the awkward years; each had a grace of her own; and neither had cause to be disturbed by anything wherein she was unlike the other. Yet, as it happened, both were so disturbed.
Ada’s gravity had increased. “You’re all wrong about it, Lily,” she said. “I’d give anything in the world to be like you.”
“What!” Lily cried. “You wouldn’t! Why?”
“Because of what I said. You can get away with anything, and people expect it. But if I ever did anything queer it would upset everybody. There’d be no end to it.”
“But you never will!” Lily almost shouted.