“I don’t believe you take exercise enough,” said Patty, still bluntly; “you don’t look as if you did.”
“I don’t take any,” said Lorraine, candidly, “that is, not if I can help it. I walk to school and back every day, but that’s only three blocks each way, and I never go out anywhere else.”
“But why not?” asked Patty, in amazement.
“Because I don’t want to. I hate to go out of doors; I like to sit in the house all the time, and read or write.”
“I like to read, too. But I like to run out of doors or walk or ride or play tennis or skate or anything like that.”
“I don’t,” said Lorraine, shortly.
She spoke so curtly that Patty suddenly realised that perhaps she hadn’t been very polite herself, and as she saw that Grandma Elliott and Mrs. Hamilton were still deeply absorbed in their conversation, she felt that she ought to try once more to entertain this queer girl.
“What do you like to read?” she asked, by way of starting a subject.
“Poetry,” said Lorraine, “all kinds of poetry. I’m going to be a poet myself.”
“Oh, are you?” said Patty, a little awed by this confident announcement.