"Why, what's the matter, Katie?"
"Nothing that you'd understand," she answered a little ungraciously.
"You might give a fellow a chance of proving that," he said, a little reproachfully.
Before school life had separated them, the twins had been noted for their friendliness and good understanding. During the last three or four years, however, they had drifted apart. Now as Robert put his arm fondly round her in the way he had often done in the old days when they were little children, she felt all her heart suddenly going out to him.
"Oh, Robert," she said, "I've been such a simpleton."
"Is that all that's bothering you?" he asked. "Why, you little goose, I might have told you that myself."
It is not the words that are spoken; it is the manner in which they are said that affects us. This speech of Robert's was just the most loving one he could have given her.
"It's about Connie," said Katie, breaking into tears again. "She's mean, and horrid and nasty. She makes use of me, and then laughs at me behind my back, and sneers at me because we are poor and I wear shabby clothes. I wouldn't have believed it of her."
"It's just what one might expect of the Paffords," said Robert, quietly. "I'd give them up if I were you."
"Yes, I will," and Katie's anger blazed forth and shone in her eyes. "I'll never speak to Connie again as long as I live."