"Nonsense!" her sister answered sharply. "She's not that kind. She's not popular with men, that's all. She's too intellectual."
"She ought to be in the library instead of Sue Elder," Miss Rebecca suggested. "She's far more competent. Sue's a feather-headed little thing."
"She seems to give satisfaction so far. If the trustees are pleased with her, there's no reason for you to complain that I see," said Miss Rebecca with decision.
Vivian Lane waited at the library desk with an armful of books to take home. She had her card, her mother's and her father's—all utilized. Her grandmother kept her own card—and her own counsel.
The pretty assistant librarian, withdrawing herself with some emphasis from the unnecessary questions of a too gallant old gentleman, came to attend her.
"You have got a load," she said, scribbling complex figures with one end of her hammer-headed pencil, and stamping violet dates with the other. She whisked out the pale blue slips from the lid pockets, dropped them into their proper openings in the desk and inserted the cards in their stead with delicate precision.
"Can't you wait a bit and go home with me?" she asked. "I'll help you carry them."
"No, thanks. I'm not going right home."
"You're going to see your Saint—I know!" said Miss Susie, tossing her bright head. "I'm jealous, and you know it."