Tory’s eyes studied the room, with which she now had grown familiar, with the same curiosity and pleasure. The room was so simple and odd. The hundreds of old books in their worn coverings, only a few new ones among them, lined the walls. By the window, the couch was covered with an old New England quilt, of great value, if Tory had realized the fact. The furniture was so inexpensive, the little pine table before her, the larger one with Memory Frean’s lamp and books and a bowl of flowers, the chairs and long bench.
What a contrast to her own austere and handsome home in Westhaven, now the property of her uncle and aunt, Mr. Richard Fenton and Miss Victoria Fenton. If Memory Frean and her uncle had not ceased to care for each other perhaps there would have been no little House in the Woods.
Tory finished her supper and her reflections.
“Memory Frean, what is it Miss Mason wished you to talk about to me? How am I failing as a Girl Scout?”
When no one else was present she used the older woman’s first name, loving its dignity and soft inflections.
Memory Frean put down her magazine.
“You are not failing, Tory, not in one sense. You are trying to accomplish too much. This is, of course, another form of failure. Take your dishes in to the kitchen and then sit here on the stool by me.”
Five minutes after she continued:
“You see, Tory, it is with Kara you are making a mistake. You are doing yourself and Kara both injustice. Miss Mason tells me she has talked to you and that the other Girl Scouts have protested, yet you remain selfish about Kara.”
The girl made no answer. If she did not like the accusation, she did not at present deny it.