“Yes.”
“I wonder if she said the same things in my letter she did in yours,” said Ruth. “Let’s read each other’s.”
“I’d rather not,” replied Marjorie, coolly. “I don’t care to have anyone read my personal letters—except mother!”
“Excuse me for living!” Then, spitefully, “Of course, your mother reads John Hadley’s?”
“She may if she wishes,” declared Marjorie, giving her attention to her sewing.
“Marj, I want to ask a favor,” continued Ruth, in a different tone. “Will you lend me your canoe this afternoon?”
Marjorie frowned slightly; she had other plans.
“If you get back by half-past four,” she said. “Jack promised to give me a few pointers about paddling.”
Ruth drummed with her finger tops against the arms of her chair while she considered the proposition. In reality she had entertained no desire to keep the canoe for more than an hour, but when she perceived that by so doing she might retard Marjorie’s progress toward proficiency in the handling of it, she was overwhelmed by a desire to keep it all afternoon.
“I did want it till supper time. But it doesn’t matter, I guess.”