"I haven't any family left, only some lawyers and guardians and things," said the other. She spoke as though she were glad of it, Marise thought, so that she suppressed the "oh!" of sympathy which she was on the point of uttering. What a strange little thing!
The strange little thing now looked up at her. "Do you know what I was crying for just now?" she said. Marise could not understand why she asked this in an accusing tone of blame.
"No!" said Marise, as utterly at a loss as ever in her life. "How could I?"
"Because I hate myself so, because I hate my looks and my clothes and everything!" the other burst out passionately, "I feel like po' white trash. They had plenty of money! Why didn't they send me here befoah?"
"Before!" cried Marise. "Why, you're only a child now."
"I'm almost as old as you are," said the other. "I'm seventeen and you're eighteen."
She flung it out like a grievance.
"Eh bien!" cried Marise in great astonishment. She had not thought the other girl over fourteen.
She said now, sitting up straight and looking wistfully at Marise, "Will you be friends? You came of your own accord to be nice to me. Tell me about things. Everything! I want so like sin to know! I'll do anything to learn."
"Know what?" asked Marise, bewildered, looking about her, as if she might catch a glimpse of the things the other wanted to know.