“But I did let her have it, Ellen.”
“You did? Well!”
“I’ll tell you how it happened. Mother’d gone down to the village, and Jim was off somewhere—he’s never in the house day-times any more; I’d been working on the new curtains all day, and I was just putting them up in the parlor, when she came.... Ellen, sometimes I think perhaps we don’t understand that girl. She was just as sweet— If it wasn’t for— If I hadn’t hardened my heart against her almost the first thing, you know, I don’t believe I could help loving her.”
“Fanny!” cried Ellen protestingly. “She certainly is a soft-soap artist. My mother says she is so refined; and Mrs. Daggett is always chanting her praises.”
“Think of all she’s done for the village,” urged Fanny. “I want to be just, even if—”
“Well, I don’t!” cried Ellen. “I just enjoy being real spiteful sometimes—especially when another girl gobbles all the men in sight; and I know I’m prettier than she is. It’s just because she’s new and—and stylish and rich. What made you give in about your furniture, Fan?”
“Because I—”
Fanny stopped short, puckering her forehead.
“I don’t know whether I can explain it, Ellen; but I notice it every time I am with her. There’s something—”
“Good gracious, Fan! She must have hypnotized you.”