“Why do you think I don’t like her?” and Irene tried not to give herself away to the astute Josie.
“Why, Irene dear, you couldn’t deceive a flea!”
“I hope I wasn’t rude to her. I try always to be extra polite to her.”
“Oh, you were polite enough, but your eyes are ‘wells of truth’ and one only has to look in them to know what your sentiments are.”
“I didn’t know that! Mercy, what am I to do? Put on smoked glasses?”
“Fortunately, you are inclined to like mankind, so won’t have to wear smoked glasses all the time,” laughed Josie. “But you haven’t told me why you don’t like her.”
“I have no reason for a strange feeling of distrust and abhorrence that comes over me when she approaches. I know she is beautiful and clever and charming and I fully realize that I am foolish to harbor such sentiments, but, try as I may, I cannot get rid of the feeling. It is one of nameless depression, a kind of smothered sensation.”
“Like some persons have when cats come in the room?”
“Exactly! Now do you think I am mean and silly?”
“No, not in the least! I think you perhaps have some kind of occult power that I wish I had myself. Now I don’t fancy the lady myself, but it is because her name is Hortense.”