I saw that she was feeling disagreeable, and attributed it to too much candy, but this reasoning did not diminish my wish to thump her. This was strong. But--I tried to hold my temper and explain.
“Don’t bother,” she said right in the middle of my words. “I’m not really interested.” And then she began to hum and, doing this, left the room. I did hate her. I think that is the meanest feminine trick of all, that humming after you’ve made the other person mad. If I had my way I’d make that a criminal offence.
I slammed things a little after she left, which is my way of showing temper, and then I forgot it all, for Uncle Frank asked if he might come in. He wanted to read aloud a few pages about how the aigrette makes her nest and takes care of her young.
After he finished he said: “And every time a woman wears them she leaves a mother bird dead and little ones starving. Ho hum--don’t--think--it’s--worth it.”
I said I didn’t either. I never had, and I have wondered how women could, but I think perhaps it is because they don’t imagine. A great many troubles are made that way, simply because someone fails to realize how the other person (or aigrette) will feel from something that they themselves say (or wear).
Amy was bad tempered all evening. She called me her “country cousin” in public, which wasn’t polite, and told how I had got tangled up in the silver at first. She brought it in nicely, and people laughed, but I did not think it was kind. Then she sulked all the way going home, and only spoke when we were a block from the door.
“Some people like admiration and work for it,” she said. “I, myself, don’t.” And then I realized that it was not too much candy, but jealousy, and that even the calling of this man who did not attract me had impressed Amy.
“I don’t care for it,” I answered shortly.
“Oh no!” she agreed, and too loudly. “I realize you don’t!”
I gave up and resorted to silence. No one can do anything with Amy when she feels that way. And we parted with cool good-nights.