Her companion stood by, looking on. She had made no comment. Her expression was not cheerful. Turning suddenly about, Elizabeth saw the dubious look.
“You don’t like it?” she cried. Then, “I suppose it does look very cheap beside yours, but—” There was no complaint in her tone.
“Cheap? I wasn’t thinking of that. I was only wishing I had one made as that was made, by someone who took the trouble because they cared for me.” Her voice was tearful. In a moment she might have been crying, but she hurried to her own room. Her new spring dress had come the day before. She had spread it out on the couch to show Elizabeth, and it still lay there. She took it up in her hands, inspecting with care every hook and bit of trimming. It was beautifully made and of handsome material. But Nora O’Day was not satisfied. She missed more and more the mother she had never known. She coveted the plain, simple gown which loving hands had made for her friend.
Elizabeth wasted no time in putting her frock into use. Dressing immediately, she went over to Landis’ room to talk over the plan of examinations. Landis had been one of the last interviewed. She was not what might be called a “charter member.” Therefore, it was not surprising that she had not shown a great amount of enthusiasm when the matter was broached to her. Playing second fiddle did not suit her ambitious temperament. She had promised to consider the matter.
That promise had been given a week previously. Elizabeth, who decided most questions upon the spur of the moment, thought a week was sufficient. Upon entering Miss Stoner’s room, she put the question at once.
“Well, Landis, what are you going to do about joining us?”
Landis looked serious. She sat silent for a few minutes, her gaze fixed upon a design in the rug, as though she wished to consider well before replying. At last she spoke and her voice expressed self-confidence and authority.
“You know me well enough, Elizabeth, to know that I’m always on the side of what is right. I have thought the matter over and have decided that it is worthy of success. I do hope it will succeed. That, of course, depends upon those who are backing it. Yet I can not put my name to it. Now,” with a serious and most impressive air such as Landis only could assume, “do not misunderstand me. It is not that I do not approve of your plan, think it needed and all that, but there is a personal reason why I feel that I cannot join the movement.”
“Why,—because you feel that you can not live up to the requirements?” was the brusque question.
“Hardly. I fancy I do whatever I make up my mind to do. I’m sure living up to the requirements would be doing just as I have always done.”