“It's queer,” commented 'Toinette, “how men like Dolly. She is n't a beauty, I 'm sure; and for the matter of that, when her hair is n't done up right, she is n't even pretty.”
“It isn't queer, at all,” said Mollie, rather crossly; “it's her way. She can make such a deal out of nothing, and she does n't stand at trouble when she wants to make people like her. She says any one can do it, and it is only a question of patience; but I don't believe her. See how frantic Griffith is about her. He is more desperately in love with her to-day than he was at the very first, seven years ago.”
“And she cares more for him, I'm sure,” said Aimée.
Mollie's shoulder went up again. “She flirts with people enough, if she does,” she commented.
“Ah!” returned Aimée, “that is 'her way,' as you call it, again. Somehow, it seems as if she can't help it. It is as natural to her as the color of her hair and eyes. She can't help doing odd things and making speeches that rouse people and tempt them into liking her. She has done such things all her life, and sometimes I think she will do them even when she is an old woman; though, of course, she will do them in a different way. Dolly would n't be Dolly without her whimsicalness, any more than Dick there, in his cage, would be a canary if he did n't twitter and sing.”
“Does she ever do such things to women?” asked Miss Mollie, shrewdly. She seemed to be in a singular mood this afternoon.
“Yes,” Aimée protested, “she does; and what is more, she is not different even with children. I have seen her take just as much trouble to please Phemie and the little Bilberrys as she would take to please Griffith or—or Mr. Gowan. And see how fond they were of her. If she had cared for nothing but masculine admiration, do you think Phemie would have adored her as she did, and those dull children would have been so desolate when she left them? No, I tell you. Dolly's weakness—and it isn't such a very terrible weakness, after all—lies in wanting everybody to like her,—men, women, and children; yes, down to babies and dogs and cats. And see here, Mollie, ain't we rather fond of her ourselves?”
“Yes,” owned Mollie, staring at the fire, “we are. Fond enough.”
“And is n't she rather fond of us?”
“Yes, she is—for the matter of that,” acquiesced Mollie.