"Not a ghost of a chance," answered Susan. "I'll go. You've never been."
"I know, but——"
"You've never been," continued Susan, fastening her shoe with its ragged string. "You've never been. Well—I have."
"You!" exclaimed Etta, horrified though unbelieving. "Oh, no, you haven't."
"Yes," said Susan. "And worse."
"And worse?" repeated Etta. "Is that what the look I sometimes see in your eyes—when you don't know anyone's seeing—is that what it means?"
"I suppose so. I'll go. You stay here."
"And you—out there!"
"It doesn't mean much to me."
Etta looked at her with eyes as devoted as a dog's. "Then we'll go together," she said.