Martine spoke hotly, as she was apt to when excited, and Carlotta made no reply.
"If I go to college," continued Martine, "I fear I'll never be distinguished enough to have my portrait in print." Then, remembering that personal speeches of this kind were not in good taste from a hostess to a guest, she changed the subject to something less irritating. But Carlotta turned away, only half mollified.
"Elinor," cried Martine, as the last of her guests went home, "this tea has been bad for me; it has given me a taste for society that will worry me the rest of the summer."
"There's no reason why you shouldn't be a little gayer."
"Oh, yes, there is, every reason. If things go better, I'll have my turn in a year or two when I am really out, and if things go ill, why I shall bury myself in work. Really, I meant what I said to Carlotta. I do mean to try for college. It would be fun to pass the examinations with Priscilla, even if I couldn't go through. For, of course, if we are very poor, I shall have to work for a living."
"Martine," cried Elinor, "you are very absurd. When I think of your cousin Mrs. Stanley at Bar Harbor—"
"Yes, and my cousin Mrs. Blair, who has one of the handsomest places on the North Shore. But unluckily what is theirs is not mine, and I have never been a beggar."
"Of course not, but from one extreme you have gone to the other, and I think that you ought to hope for the best."
"If hoping were having," murmured Martine.
Mr. Gamut was one of the guests whom Martine invited in Elinor's honor.