“But perhaps Annie would rather not go to the Museum to-day,” said Mrs. Acheson. “She looks very tired, as if she had been overdoing it.”
“I assure you, mother,” said Belle, “that most of the
St. Wode’s students have that sort of look; there is nothing whatever in it. The rosy cheek, the bright eye which sparkles with no soul beneath, the pouting lips full of rude health, do not belong to the earnest student. Don’t be alarmed about either of us, pray; we like our life, and we mean to cling to it.”
“Oh, I am not at all anxious about you, dear,” said Mrs. Acheson. “You are always somewhat sallow, but you look well. Now, this poor child—how very thin she is!”
Belle prepared to leave the room.
“You will excuse me,” she said, turning to Annie. “I have to get back to my work. Do you mean to come with me or not?”
“I should like to come,” said Annie.
“Well, that is all right,” said Belle, slightly mollified; “you meet me in the hall in half-an-hour.”
She dashed away, and Mrs. Acheson began to ask Annie some impossible questions with regard to her health.
“If I could but tell her the truth,” thought the poor girl. “If I could say: ‘Will you tell me how long four shillings—that means forty-eight pence—will keep any girl in food and raiment, I should be greatly obliged to you. If you can solve that problem you would indeed be my greatest friend on earth.’ But no, no,” thought Annie, “I cannot confide in her; that would be quite the worst of all.”