"More than that!" said Grace, absent-mindedly. "There has to be a knack, or something, and you have it. I haven't. I couldn't do it, even if I wanted to, and I don't think I do."
"Do what?" said the Snowy.
"Be an Owl!" said Grace. Suddenly she left her hold of the shelf, and turned upon them almost fiercely.
"Why should I?" she exclaimed. "Tell me that, will you? It is all natural to you. Your blood flows quietly, and you like quiet, orderly ways, and never want to throw things about, or smash a window. I tell you I have to, sometimes. Look here!"
She caught up a vase from the shelf, and seemed on the point of flinging it through the closed window, but Gertrude laid her hand on her arm firmly. "You may have a right to throw your own things, my dear," she said, good-naturedly. "You have no possible right to throw mine, and 'with all respect, I do object!'"
Grace gave a short laugh, and set the vase down again; but she still looked frowningly at the two girls, and presently she went on.
"It's all very well for you, I tell you. You have a home, and a—my mother died when I was five years old. My father—"
"Grace, dear," said Gertrude; "come and sit down here by me, and tell me about your mother. I have seen her picture; she must have been lovely."
But Grace shook her head fiercely.
"My father is an actor, and I want to be one, too, but he promised my mother before she died—she didn't want me to be one. What do I care about all this stuff we are learning here? I tell you I want to take a tambourine and go on the road with a hand-organ man. That would be life! I would, too, if I only had the luck to have hair and eyes like yours, Fluffy."