“She is the best friend Winifred could have,” Celia replied. “She is both beautiful and talented and good. Yes, and wise too. But—I have not seen her much. I doubt if she really understands the position.”
There was a little silence. Then Louise spoke again.
“Celia,” she said, with a touch of hesitation, “you have changed a little—or a great deal? You don’t look at things so entirely from Winifred’s point of view, do you?”
“No,” said Celia, frankly, “I don’t. I have changed. I hope, perhaps, I have grown wiser, that I have learned to see things outside ourselves more than I did. Winifred would tell you it was all the other way,” she added, with a smile. “She thinks I have grown narrow and conventional.”
“But you haven’t changed about yourself—about your wish to see what talent you have—to test yourself, as you say?” asked Louise, eagerly. “I should not like that.”
“No, I feel just the same. I feel that I must try—that is to say, unless some very clear overmastering question of duty interferes. I know I have some talent, and, even if it is nothing remarkable, I think I should cultivate it, and if,”—here the girl’s voice trembled a little—“if it were to be remarkable—well, all the more reason for developing it.”
“Yes. You are right. I know you are,” said Louise. “I am so glad. But then it is about Winifred you have changed?”
“Not exactly—or rather, it is about Winifred, as a type of so many girls nowadays. I cannot go as far as she does, and yet you see the position is very invidious. It makes me seem selfish and presumptuous and—almost conceited,” and Celia’s face clouded over. “A very little thing began the change in me,” she went on. “An almost chance remark of Eric Balderson’s. Then I tried to think it out, and I wondered at myself for having agreed with Winifred as I did. For her case is a peculiarly strong one the other way, I now see. Her life is before her. It is not like that of some women who have reason to feel hedged-in and stunted, even though I am beginning to think that very often it is their own fault. I am afraid a good deal comes from love of excitement, though, of course, there is the other side of it too. But it would take hours to tell you all I have been thinking.”
“And I have kept you up too long already, dear,” said Louise. “Only—Celia, I must tell you one thing—the White Weeper has been seen again.”
Celia started, and grew white herself.