She stood up and put her friend into her chair and then she knelt beside her, and slipped her arm round her waist.
"Dearest Alma!" she whispered.
"Oh," sobbed Alma, "if only you were my very own sister Thea—I couldn't love you more. I'm so lonely. Father is always busy, and mother—mother is disappointed in me."
Dot opened her eyes in surprise. She had never dreamed of a mother being disappointed in her child.
"I'm not pretty—or clever—or anything," sobbed Alma. "She's always been disappointed in me—ever since I was a tiny baby—and I've always known it—and—and—she doesn't know I know. Oh dear!"
Dot was shocked. "Darling Alma!" she said again.
"It's dreadful to be the only child—and to be a disappointment," said Alma. "I think father is sorry for us both."
Dot stroked the girl's straight hair.
"You've got lovely eyes," she said, "and you're very clever at crotchet work."
"What's that!" said Alma drearily. "Mother wouldn't mind if I never touched a needle. She says if a girl hasn't beauty she has only one other chance in the world—and that is to be brilliant. I do try to be clever—but it's no good."