“Nobody cares,” she mourned, “even Laura doesn’t care whether I succeed or not. I want the girls to like me, but they won’t.”
Tears of self-pity dimmed her lashes when Laura slipped timidly into the room and after a worried glance at the scattered papers resumed her former seat.
“Now, Lucine, if you will read that last paragraph once more, I will try to see where the difficulty lies. It—it’s fine so far.”
Lucine looked down at her essay, then across at the attentive small face that appeared quite plain when fixed in such a worried pucker. “No,” she said at last, “I won’t. You are not interested in the essay or in my hopes of success. You offer to help merely because you think it is your duty. I refuse to accept such grudging friendship. You toss aside my affairs at the slightest whim of an outsider, and then expect me to welcome the remnant of your mental powers. No, thank you.”
Laura bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, “you ought not to feel that way about it. I do truly wish to help you all I can. Please!”
Lucine made a half-involuntary movement to gather up the sheets; then checked herself. “No, I have too much pride to play second fiddle. Your neglect has wounded me deeply, and I do not see how I can ever forgive you. To forsake me for such a shallow, disagreeable person as Berta Abbott is an unpardonable insult.”
Laura gave a little shiver and lifted her head sharply. “I have tried to be your friend. I have endured—things. But I won’t endure this—I won’t—I can’t. Berta is my friend. You shall not speak of her like that to me. Say you’re sorry—quick! Oh, Lucine, say you didn’t mean it and are sorry.”
“I am not sorry,” said Lucine distinctly, “and I did mean it. I am glad I have dared to speak the truth about her. She is shallow and disagreeable.”
“And what are you?” Laura sprang to her feet. “A conceited selfish inconsiderate——” She clapped her hand to her mouth with a quick sobbing breath. “Oh, Lucine, we can’t be friends. I’ve tried and tried, but we can’t.”
From beneath lowered eyelids Lucine watched the slight little figure hurry to the door and vanish. Then rising abruptly she jerked a chair in front of her desk, slapped down a fresh pad of paper, jabbed her pen into the inkwell, shook it fiercely over the blotter—and suddenly brushing the pages hither and thither she flung out her arms upon them and buried her face from the light.