“You haven’t found that out about everybody, Gladys. And, honestly, I think the Hammond-Gilsey crowd isn’t much of a loss,” she said.
“No,” said Gladys sadly. “Gwen was right. They’re vulgar, ill-bred girls. But I don’t see why I couldn’t know that as well as Gwen did. And, besides, I’m kind of sorry I know it now. But I haven’t found out you’re mean. I have found out you’re the very nicest girl I ever saw. And what I wanted to ask you was if you thought, after a while—a long, long while—you could forgive me, and like me a little bit?”
“Why, Glad, I don’t even remember I have anything to forgive!” cried Jan, throwing her arms impulsively around the neck of the small figure of humble contrition. “And I do like you now—no, I don’t! I love you—aren’t you my own cousin, and aren’t we going to be friends?”
“I am going to be your friend, and I’m going to try to be the kind of girl you are,” said Gladys, returning Jan’s warm kisses heartily, but in a chastened manner. “I would rather you wouldn’t say you love me yet, because if you do it must be just for Gwen’s sake, or because I’m your cousin, and I want you to love me anyway—because I’m worth loving.”
“Of course you’re worth loving, Gladys. And I think this trouble at school is a perfect blessing!” cried Jan. “You were all mixed up with that worldly, silly lot of girls, and it was just as bad for you! You’ll be ever so much more sensible and nicer when you are done with them.”
“I hope so,” returned Gladys, evidently not in a mood to take a hopeful view of herself. “If I had been sensible I wouldn’t have liked them—Gwen didn’t. You never can like me as well as Gwen, because she really is sensible, and she’s dreadfully clever, and then she’s been pretty nice to you all along. Just think of my caring because those girls knew you hadn’t any money! Shouldn’t you have supposed I’d have known they weren’t ladies, and that you were, and not have cared—just despised them?”
“Yes,” said Jan, stifling a yawn, for an exciting day had left her too sleepy to enter into discussions, moral or social. “I guess people are like things to eat—you like some from the start, and others you have to learn to like. The Hammonds were a sort of puff paste, and too much of them gives you indigestion. Don’t you bother any more about me, Gladys. We’ll have such good times together that you’ll forget you ever were mortified by your Western cousin.”
“Don’t, Jan,” said Gladys gravely. “I’m so ashamed.”
“Now that’s a healthy feeling. I’m always an angel for several days after I’ve been ashamed of myself,” laughed Jan, kissing her crushed visitor good night.
Jan fell asleep with Tommy Traddles purring at her feet and something very like a purr in her own heart, so full of content it was. For the first time she felt that her peaceful conquest of the Graham family was accomplished, that there was not one under that roof that night that did not love her, and to whom her coming was not a matter for which to be glad. Sydney had been indifferent, but now they were the best of friends. Gladys had disliked her, but she bade fair to love her more than Gwen did. And her Aunt Tina had bade her good night with positive affection in her kiss, a kiss that was not usually given when she left her to sleep. Jan felt very happy, very grateful for the love that was springing up around her, not realizing that it was a case of the mirror of which her mother had written her, which Thackeray had said gave back one’s own expression.