"You are my despair, Clover. Things are always delightful to you."
Clover heard the depression in her sister's voice, and wondered; her thoughts flew to Jack too, and she questioned what mood the day might have left him in. "Oh no," she answered, "but those nut-brown maids in the Javanese theatre would put any one into good humor. When they dance, you can no more help laughing than if you were being tickled with a feather. Such dear, cunning, absurd motions as they make, their little bits of mouths looking so serious all the time."
"You take such an interest in everything," said Mildred wistfully. "It is because you have 'a heart at leisure from itself.' I have never longed for that sort of a heart as I have to-day. For quite a while it has been slowly dawning upon me that I am more self-centred than most people; but to-day Gorham Page gave me the final blow."
"Mr. Page? Why, you astonish me. He has a high opinion of you. He was saying to-day how much deeper and more earnest you were"—
"For mercy's sake," exclaimed Mildred, flushing to her ears, "don't tell me what he said!"
"Why? Are you too conscientious to accept a compliment when you haven't a 'trade'?"
"I have plenty of 'trades.' Jack never talks about you without using superlatives."
"Dear Jack. He is far too appreciative," returned Clover, wishing it were light enough to see how her sister accepted this; "but you haven't told me how Mr. Page hurt you."
"No, it was the truth that hurt me."
"Mr. Page is a very good representative of that," smiled Clover.