“This is nice,” said Fanny with a sigh. “I did so want to chat with you, Martha. I so seldom see you quite all by yourself.”
“I am always to be seen if you really wish to find me, Fanny,” replied Martha. “I am never too busy not to be delighted to see my friends.”
“Well, of course we are friends, being Specialities,” was Fanny’s remark.
“Yes,” answered Martha, “and I think we were friends before. I always liked you just awfully, Fan.”
“Ditto, ditto,” replied Fanny. “It is curious,” she continued, speaking in a somewhat sententious voice, “how one is drawn irresistibly to one girl and repelled by another. Now, I was always drawn to you, Matty; I always liked you from the very, very first. I was more than delighted when I heard that you were to become one of us.”
Martha was silent. It was not her habit to praise herself, nor did she care to hear herself praised. She was essentially downright and honest. She did not think highly of herself, for she knew quite well that she had very few outward charms.
Fanny, however, who was the essence of daintiness, looked at her now with blue-gray eyes full of affection. “Martha,” she said, “I have such a lot to talk over! What did you think of last night?”
“I thought it splendid,” replied Martha.
“And Betty—what did you think of Betty?”
“Your cousin? She is very dramatic,” said Martha.