Ida would have acceded to almost any other proposition more readily, but she submitted with forced complaisance.
"Go on with your reading. I shall retire if I interrupt you;" continued Miss Arnold.
"I have been reading all the morning;" said Ida, seeing that the other's book was untouched.
"And won't my talking annoy you?" cried Miss Arnold with childish pleasure. "I have so longed to know you better—to get nearer to you! Bear with me while I say it; you are so—not exactly stern to me—but so distant! That it was not your nature, I discovered from your demeanor to Alice. I could not but love you for your goodness to her; and—child that I am—I would have entreated you to care for me a little in return—but you froze the words upon my lips. I have cried over it after I went to bed at night. Will you not tell me truly why you dislike me?"
The violet eyes were sparkling through tears.
"I was not aware that I was so frightful," replied Ida, smiling. "My coldness was imaginary, or unintentional on my part, Miss Arnold."
"There!" said the beauty reproachfully; "it was 'Alice' before you had known her a day."
"Because we were old schoolmates."
"Strangers, nevertheless. Come, Ida—be my friend—will you not?"