Daphne did not appear to notice anything amiss. She looked lazily down at the wet and muddy sidewalks and shrugged her shoulders.
"Park's better than this," she suggested. "Let's cut over to it."
They walked in silence until they gained the path that ran around the reservoir.
"Looks wintry, doesn't it?" she asked idly. They stopped and looked over the iron railing into the dull green water.
It was a somber autumn day. The sky was banked with dark gray clouds, and a high wind swept through the trees, tearing away the last leaves and whirling them to the ground.
"I suppose so," Janet replied indifferently. "I like it," she added listlessly.
"Of course, but it's silly of you," Daphne agreed with her odd little laugh. "Awfully silly."
"What do you mean?" Janet looked up at her suddenly.
"It's silly to like dreary things, even days, and it's most awfully silly to be dreary yourself. Not fair, you know, when every body's doing their best to be nice."
"But they're not," Janet said quickly. "They were the first day and then—"