"I don't believe she'll marry St. Hilaire, anyway," said Kelly, with the obstinacy of a mild nature. "She doesn't love him, to begin with. And she isn't the sort that'll do a thing simply because other people say that it's good for her. She's the sort of girl that shapes her own future."
"You're as big a fool as Pryor," said Cornelia, flinging tempestuously out of the gymnasium.
Poor Kelly was crestfallen. He walked sadly to a window, opened it, and took several deep breaths, his infallible remedy for depression of spirits. Mazie, relieved at Cornelia's exit, lighted a cigarette and waited for him to finish.
"Why is she so blamed anxious to have Janet marry this St. Hilaire?" he asked, turning slowly from the window.
"Why? Ha, ha, the poor fish asks me why?"
She punctuated the question with a hollow laugh.
"Only because Janet doesn't want to marry him," she went on, perching herself jauntily on the desk. "Why, Simple Simon, the old girl would have nothing left to live for, if she couldn't make people do what they don't want to do. Or, at least, if she couldn't prevent them from doing what they do want to do—"
The door flew open.
"So that's the way you talk about me behind my back?" cried Cornelia, the picture of outraged majesty.
Mazie rapidly came down from her perch and slunk out of the room.