“I quite understand,” she went on quietly, “why he wishes me to go a little ahead of your party.” Irving frowned.
“It’s all right. I have felt very much humiliated—” she went on.
“Absurd, ridiculous,” interjected Irving hotly; but she finished her sentence as if he had not spoken.
“Betsy says I am a vine, and wish too much to cling, and haven’t backbone enough; but Mr. Derwent’s interest puts backbone into me. I feel that surely there is a place for me somewhere—”
“Where,” interrupted her companion, “where in Boston are you going?”
“He will take care of it all, he says. Isn’t it wonderful? I don’t wonder that he loved my father.” The girl’s eyes shone. “He says that they were very close at one time, and that old friends can never be replaced. It makes me think of what Holmes said:—
“‘There is no friend like the old friend, who has shared our morning days,
No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise:
Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of gold;