“I have tried a shell hair pin at night, but it falls off when I go to sleep,” I said, in a despondant manner.
We sat for some time, eating caromels and thinking about Leila, because there was nothing to do with my noze, but Leila was diferent.
“Although,” Jane said, “you will never be able to live your own Life until she is gone, Bab.”
“There is Carter Brooks,” I suggested. “But he is poor. And anyhow she is not in Love with him.”
“Leila is not one to care about Love,” said Jane. “That makes it eazier.”
“But whom?” I said. “Whom, Jane?”
We thought and thought, but of course it was hard, for we knew none of those who filled my sister’s life, or sent her flours and so on.
At last I said:
“There must be a way, Jane. There must be. And if not, I shall make one. For I am desparate. The mere thought of going back to school, when I am as old as at present and engaged also, is madening.”
But Jane held out a warning hand.