Cassandra started. She looked full at Ruth.
"Is that a slap at me?" she asked.
"No; I did not mean it as a slap at you or anybody. I only see how the matter looks to me, and how it would
have looked to father, and how it looks to grandfather. There are some people born that way; I think, after a fashion, I am one of them. There are others who would look at the thing from a different point of view, but I don't think I envy those others. Shall we go in now and set to work?"
"You are an extraordinary girl," said Cassandra. "I really don't know whether I love you or hate you most for being such a little goose. Well, Ruth, if that is your mind, I don't know why you care to go in to work, for it will be all over in a day or two—all over—and your fate sealed."
"Nevertheless I should like to read that piece of Tasso, and do my work with Miss Renshaw. Shall we go in?" said Ruth.
Cassandra somehow did not dare to say any more. Afterwards, when Ruth had returned to her own home, Cassandra sat with her head in her hands for the best part of an hour. Her mother asked her what ailed her.
"I have a headache," she replied. "I was with a girl to-day who is fifty times too good for me."
"What nonsense you are talking, Cassandra! There are few people good enough for you."
"To think of her gives me a headache," continued Cassandra. "If you don't mind, mother, I will go to bed now."