“I do,” answered Leslie calmly. “I know I have a very pretty face; it would be the height of affectation for me to say anything else. But do not let us talk any more about personal appearance. Surely you did not want me to visit you to discuss my looks?”
“By no means. From Eileen or Marjorie the words you have just uttered would disgust me so completely that I should ask the one who had so spoken to leave the room; but you have something queer about you, something earnest and out of the common; you are not an ordinary girl, and cannot be judged by ordinary standards. I am convinced that you will never take life frivolously.”
“I hope I never shall, Belle.”
“Belle! You call me Belle, and you only met me for the first time yesterday!”
“I hope you do not think me presuming,” said Leslie—she held out her hand to Belle as she spoke—“but I feel somehow that we are going to be friends.”
Belle’s thin hand was immediately outstretched, and for an instant she clasped Leslie’s—she then let it drop with a sigh.
“Why had I not a sister like you?” she said. “It is hard to go through life without sympathy, and I get little.”
“If you will allow me, I will give you plenty in the future.”
“If I will allow you! But there, perhaps this is a temptation. Are we really to be friends? If so, you will promise not to tempt me.”
“In what way? How can I?”