"Then if I wait for the day when I have confidence in my own power and feel perfectly calm, the essay will never be written at all," said Florence.
"That would be bad," remarked Bertha; "you want to get that Scholarship, don't you?"
"I must get it; my whole life turns on it."
Bertha smiled, sighed very gently, lowered her eyes once more, and proceeded with her darning.
"I don't believe you have a bit of sympathy for me," said Florence, in an aggrieved voice.
"Yes, but I have; I pity you terribly. I see plainly that you are doomed to the most awful disappointment."
"What do you mean? I tell you I will get the Scholarship."
"You won't unless you write a decent essay."
"Oh, Bertha, you drive me nearly mad; I tell you I will get it."
"All the willing and the wishing in the world won't make the impossible come to pass," retorted Bertha, and now she once more threaded her darning-needle and took out another stocking from the basket.