"Am I as bad as all that? Tell me honestly, Aunt Fanny, now while I am in the humour to hear it, what do I do that is so terrible?"
"Honestly, Nan, you do nothing terrible at all. Not even Miss Puella Gillum could criticise you."
"Why, Miss Puella never criticises any one. She's just as sweet as she can be."
"Well, she's an old maid, you know, and old maids are supposed to be critical," said Miss Fanny. "I'll tell you where all the trouble is, Nan: you are sensitive, and you have an idea that you must behave as some of the other girls do—that you must hold your hands and your head just so. If you would be yourself, and forget all about etiquette and manners, you'd satisfy everybody, especially yourself."
"Why, that is what worries me now; I do forget all about those things, and then, all of a sudden, I realise that I am acting like a child, and a very noisy child at that, and then I'm afraid some one will make remarks. It is all very miserable and disagreeable, and I wish there wasn't a long skirt in the world."
"Well, when you get as old as I am," sighed Miss Fanny, "you won't mind little things like that. Margaret is coming now. I'll leave you with her. Try to find out why she is unhappy. Pulaski is nearly worried to death about it, and so am I."
Margaret Gaither came in as sedately as an old woman. She was very fond of Nan, and greeted her accordingly. Whatever her trouble was, it had made no attack on her health. She had a fine color, and her eyes were bright; but there was the little frown between her eyebrows that had attracted the attention of Gabriel, and it gave her a troubled look.
"If you'll tell me something nice and pleasant," she said to Nan, "I'll be under many obligations to you. Tell me something funny, or if you don't know anything funny, tell me something horrible—anything for a change. I saw Cephas downtown; that child has been trying for days to tell me of his adventures, and I have been dying to hear them. But I keep out of his way; I am so perverse that I refuse to give myself that much pleasure. Oh, if you only knew how mean I am, you wouldn't sit there smiling. I hear that the dear boys are having a good deal of trouble. Well, it serves them right; they had no business to be boys. They should have been girls; then they would have been perfectly happy all the time. Don't you think so, sweet child?"
Nan regarded her friend with astonishment. She had never heard her talk in such a strain before. "Why, what is the matter with you, Margaret? You know that girls can be as unhappy as boys; yes, and a thousand times more so."
"Oh, I'll never believe it! never!" cried Margaret. "Why, do you mean to tell me that any girl can be unhappy? You'll have to prove it, Nan; you'll have to give the name, and furnish dates, and then you'll have to give the reason. Do you mean to insinuate that you intend to offer yourself as the horrible example? Fie on you, Nan! You're in love, and you mistake that state for unhappiness. Why, that is the height of bliss. Look at me! I'm in love, and see how happy I am!"