But the sudden outburst could not be prolonged, for Jane must not see her in this plight. Even the satisfaction of a good cry had to be checked—Gloria got up, somehow, looked in the glass, but saw nothing. Her eyes were still swimming, and how her throat ached!
That essay! Her first real school love! To have worked upon it so long, and then to have met with such a stream of unavoidable interruptions! If it had not been for dad—— But what girl does not know the pangs of an unjust disappointment? To have made so useless a sacrifice!
Whether or not the motive was entirely flawless, it must be admitted, that deep down in Gloria’s unexplored forces there remained a picture of the country girl at boarding school, where unpleasant little stories had preceded her. True, she was almost an orphan, whereas, the high holding cousin Hazel had both parents, and many opportunities of knowing such trifling mannerisms as are supposed to be stamped on a girl with “finish,” but Gloria had had the big world of outdoors, with the sea for a background and the hills for variety, and she was far too clever to under value the knowledge of her own world in such a chance as the prize essay afforded.
She wanted to show the girls!
And she wanted to delight her dad!
The drudgery of actually putting the proof upon paper in a simple direct way, carefully worded and carefully spelled, (she had looked up scores of words,) had proven greater than she had expected it would be, but the task inspired interest as it grew, and now Gloria actually loved the sketch, as she would have loved a journal of her happiest days. But it would be impossible for her to finish the essay in the short time left. The “commercial girls” were not boarders, and they all completed their work before noon. Somehow Gloria now felt as if she were wrapped in a cloud of crepe, black and smothering. Even Jane’s long looked for visit was completely spoiled.
One or two spasms of rebellion finished the attack of self pity. Then Gloria jerked herself up like a colt at the twinge of a smarting bite.
“All right,” she said to the image now scoffing at her from the mirror, “I guess I’ll live through it.” After all, it was only a chance. The unfinished sheets of paper would catch her eye although she was avoiding their corner. It had been foolish to count so much on a mere chance, she argued persistently.
But all this was not really why she was feeling the disappointment so keenly. It was because Gloria instinctively tried her best to win in any wholesome sport, and wasn’t it real sport to enter a contest with girls from so many schools? To make use of a chance to express her own original views on disputed theories?
Then, there was always her father, and his natural pride in her work. And all future chances to do anything really worth while seemed so very remote.