Still Sidney stared into her teacup. She thought Pola was all wrong, but she did not know how to say it. Pola herself had told her that she had gone to Grace Hall because it had no examinations and graduated a girl anyway—so much for Pola’s education. And culture—what benefited all the culture of Europe if Pola found enjoyment only in the company of youths her mother would not permit in the house?
Pola mistook Sidney’s silence for hurt. “You goose, I’m not saying I think I’m any better than you are! But you must see that neither of us are a bit like that native girl!” Which admission Pola considered most generous.
“I wasn’t thinking about whether you are any better than I am or not. I’ve been brought up, you see,” with a rueful laugh, “to believe that my father being a poet set me a little apart from everyone else. And I’ve hated it. What I was thinking was that there really isn’t any class difference in people—except what we make ourselves, like the League building a barrier around me and you thinking you’re in another class from Mart because you’re rich. Maybe it isn’t really the outside things that count, maybe it’s the big things we have got or haven’t got inside us—”
“Like what?” demanded Pola.
Sidney was thinking of Lav’s self-effacing ambition to serve the world from the seclusion of a laboratory, of Mart’s cheerfulness in the face of her lot and her loyal affection for her exacting and rheumatic grandmother; of the courage of Mart’s grandfather, Ambrose Calkins, who had lost his own life in going back to his sinking schooner for the cook who could not swim; of her own ancestor, Priscilla Ellis. Those were the things which set people apart from their fellows, Sidney thought, but the understanding was too new in her own heart for her to find words in which she could tell Pola of it. “Like what?” Pola demanded again and this time her voice was a little haughty.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sidney laughed. “I’m all mixed up. I guess I was trying to say something Mr. Dugald said once to me.”
“Oh, Dug!” laughed Pola. “He’s nutty about all that! Look at the way he lives here on the Cape. But mother says he’ll get over it when he marries. Now I have no intention of getting serious this grand day so let’s have another piece of that chocolate fudge cake—it’s on me, too, remember!” Which was Pola’s pretty way of pretending she did not know that Sidney did not have any money with her. The dollar Sidney had earned for posing had long since been spent.
Sidney was relieved that Pola had rescued her from the “deep water.” At the same time she suffered from the sense that she had not made Pola see Mart in another light. She had failed in loyalty. The sparkling blue of the bay that stretched before them only reminded her that this was the hour she usually went swimming. Due to Pola’s “complex” she had not gone swimming for a whole week.
Even with her mouth full of the fudge cake, she vowed to herself that the very next day she would hunt out her chums and her old pastimes. Pola and Mr. Dugald must plan without her!
She had promised to dine again at the hotel with Pola and her mother but as soon as she could after dinner she returned to Sunset Lane. Because of her determination her heart was lighter. And her way was made easier, too, for Mrs. Allan had told Pola at dinner that the “Truxtons were at Chatham Bars.” Pola had been as excited over the Truxtons as her mother.