“You are not making much of a toilet this evening,” said Annie.
“Oh, I shall do very well,” replied Leslie.
“Do! I should think you will,” said Annie in a tone almost of affection. “If I had as pretty a face as yours, I should not much mind how I dressed; or, yes, perhaps I should. Perhaps I should give up my whole life to my beautiful face, and spend all my time devising means to make it still more attractive.”
“Don’t,” said Leslie in a sharp voice. The thought that Mr. Parker also supposed that she was vain enough and despicable enough to go into debt for fine clothes returned to her memory with Annie’s words.
“You look sweet,” said Annie. “Come along, take my arm. I am in a mighty good humor, I can tell you, and as hungry as a hawk. I missed the tea which you, you kind little roomfellow, have generally got for me.”
“Go on; don’t wait for me,” said Leslie. “I have forgotten a handkerchief.”
She ran back just when they reached the door. Annie, in some wonder, went downstairs alone. Leslie waited until she had gone.
“Oh, God help me to bear it!” she said, raising a piteous cry to the One who alone could help her. Then, feeling a little better, she went downstairs, and took her place at table.
When dinner was over, one or two girls came up to invite both Annie and Leslie to join them at a cocoa-party.
Leslie looked at Annie with a sort of suppressed eagerness.