"Of course, I'll divide that with Carol," was the generous offer.
"No, I won't have it. I haven't any literary brains, and I can't take any of your salary. Thanks just the same." Then she added happily: "But I know you'll be very generous when I need to borrow, and I do borrow pretty often, Larkie."
For the rest of the week Lark's literary career was the one topic of conversation in the Starr family. The Daily News became a sort of literary center piece, and the whole parsonage revolved enthusiastically around it. Lark's clothes were put in the most immaculate condition, and her wardrobe greatly enriched by donations pressed upon her by her admiring sisters. Every evening the younger girls watched impatiently for the carrier of the Daily News, and then rushed to meet him. The paper was read with avid interest, criticized, commended. They all admitted that Lark would be an acquisition to the editorial force, indeed, one sorely needed. They begged her to give Mount Mark the news while it was news, without waiting to find what the other Republican papers of the state thought about it. Why, the instructions and sisterly advice and editorial improvements poured into the ears of patient Lark would have made an archangel giddy with confusion!
During those days, Carol followed Lark about with a hungry devotion that would have been observed by her sister on a less momentous occasion. But now she was so full of the darling Career that she overlooked the once most-darling Carol. On Monday morning, Carol did not remain up-stairs with Lark as she donned her most businesslike dress for her initiation into the world of literature. Instead, she sulked grouchily in the dining-room, and when Lark, radiant, star-eyed, danced into the room for the family's approval, she almost glowered upon her.
"Am I all right? Do I look literary? Oh, oh," gurgled Lark, with music in her voice.
Carol sniffed.
"Oh, isn't it a glorious morning?" sang Lark again. "Isn't everything wonderful, father?"
"Lark Starr," cried Carol passionately, "I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself. It's bad enough to turn your back on your—your life-long twin, and raise barriers between us, but for you to be so wildly happy about it is—perfectly wicked."
Lark wheeled about abruptly and stared at her sister, the fire slowly dying out of her eyes.
"Why, Carol," she began slowly, in a low voice, without music.