It may be set down to their credit that they good-naturedly ignored her sullenness, and tried so far as they could to interest her in their daily round of fun. As Sarah had confidentially remarked to Jane, “We expected Blanche would act like this, and now you see we haven’t been disappointed.”
Ruth alone knew the true cause of Blanche’s moroseness. On the afternoon following their talk, the latter had coldly informed her that the promised letter had been written and delivered to the postman of the Rural Free Delivery Route, who brought the mail each morning. Since then little conversation had passed between them. Finding her friendly overtures coolly rebuffed, Ruth was careful to treat Blanche exactly as though nothing had happened, when in the presence of the others. Aside from that, she prudently let her alone. She did not wish her companions to discover that she was the real object of Blanche’s animosity. She was afraid it might lead to pointed questions. Refusal to answer them would be quite as embarrassing as to do so. She was earnestly trying to protect Blanche from the displeasure of her own friends, whom she felt would instinctively resent any churlish treatment of herself on Blanche’s part.
Naturally straightforward, even kindly pretense came hard for Ruth. There were times when she heartily wished she had not made the unlucky discovery. Again she was glad of it. She was convinced, however, that she had done right in keeping it a secret. Nevertheless the strain irked her. It took its toll of her usual zest for enjoyment. More than once, she reflected resentfully that it was hardly fair in Blanche not to meet her halfway. The end of the week saw the breach between the two steadily widening through no fault of Ruth’s. Saturday morning’s mail had brought Blanche a scathing letter from an indignant young man, who accused her of the double crime of not knowing her own mind and spoiling his summer.
She had anticipated some such reply and it made her very angry. She promptly retaliated with an equally scathing letter to him, in which she expressed herself as thankful to have found out his true character in time and hoped she would never see him again. All of which proved conclusively that Blanche was merely a very foolish young girl. In consequence, she was particularly thorny all day, and so far forgot caution as to fling several ill-natured remarks directly at Ruth, whom she could not forgive for having “pried into her affairs.”
“What ails Blanche Shirly, anyway?” asked Jane Pellew disgustedly of Betty and Anne as the three girls met in their room, preparatory to going downstairs to dinner. “Did you hear her snap at Ruth when we were out on the veranda this afternoon? After all the trouble Ruth has taken for her, too!”
“Yes, I noticed it.” Betty frowned. “Ruth didn’t seem to mind, though. Blanche has hardly treated any of us civilly, of late. I suppose she doesn’t care much for our way of doing things. She certainly doesn’t seem interested in Camp Fire work.”
“Then why did she come up here?” demanded Jane tartly. “She makes me tired. She might better have gone with her mother to the sanatorium. She’s a regular wet-blanket.”
“Give her time, Janie,” smiled Anne, unconsciously repeating Ruth’s own words. “You can’t expect her to see things as we do all in a minute. We’ve just got to keep on pretending we don’t notice her glum looks. It’s—well—it’s a kind of experiment. If it turns out well in the end, think how glad we’ll all be! Sooner or later, something will happen to make Blanche wake up.”
“That’s what Ruth says, too, but I don’t agree with either of you,” retorted Jane. “It’s awfully aggravating when one person in a jolly crowd like ours isn’t with us in our fun. If Blanche keeps on sulking as she has, I’ll tell her what I think of her. See if I don’t!”
“You mustn’t.” Betty shook a positive head. “Ruth wouldn’t like it. Do as Anne says and pay no attention to Blanche’s moods. You know how she’s always acted at Hillside. She and Jeanette Hayes are chums, yet they were on bad terms half the time last year.”