Daphne turned slowly and looked at her. For once her drooping lids fully uncovered the sea green eyes that they were usually at such pains to hide. A strand of her taffy-colored hair blew across her face, and she tucked it carefully under her hat before she answered.
"So that's it, is it?" There was a hint of something besides laughter in her velvety voice. "I didn't understand; what happened?"
"I don't know," Janet answered dully; "perhaps I did something they didn't like or perhaps they just stopped bothering with me; I don't know."
"But I know,"—Daphne laughed. "You expected too much. When the girls stopped making a fuss about you, you thought they stopped liking you, so here you are going off in corners and looking sadder than a wet chicken, and you think you are doing the best you can, eh?"
"Go on," Janet said quietly.
"Ever have a pet rabbit?" Daphne inquired with mild interest.
"Yes, but what—" Janet stammered.
"Remember the first day you had him, the fuss you made about him and then how you got sort of tired of him?"
"Why, yes, I suppose—"
Daphne laughed and yawned, showing all her pretty white teeth.