“Well,” said Maggie, “there are a great many girls in the school who love me very dearly.”
“It is easy to perceive that,” said Merry. “Why, Maggie, at tea-time that handsome little Irish girl—Kathleen you call her—couldn’t take her eyes off you.”
“Oh, Kitty,” said Maggie. “Yes, she is on my side.”
“What do you mean by your side?”
“Well, of course I have told you—haven’t I?—that there are two of us in this school who are more looked up to than the others. It seems very conceited for me to say that I happen to be one. Of course I am not a patch on Aneta; I know that perfectly well.”
“Aneta is a darling,” said Merry; “and she is my own cousin; but”—she dropped her voice—“Maggie, somehow, I can’t help loving you best.”
“Oh,” said Maggie with a start, “is that true?”
“It is! it is!”
Maggie was silent for a minute. At the end of that time she said very gently, “You won’t be hurt at something I want to tell you?”
“Hurt! No,” said Merry; “why should I be?”