“This is our last quiet evening, Hatty, and I am going to talk instead of read, so you may as well shut up that big book.”
“It takes two to talk,” observed Hatty, rather crossly, “and I am not in the mood for conversation, so you had better let me go on with ‘Bishop Selwyn’s Life.’”
“You are not in the mood for reading either,” persisted Bessie, and there was a gleam of fun in her eyes. “When you pucker up your forehead like that, I know your thoughts are not on your book. Let us have a comfortable talk instead. You have not been like yourself the last week, not a bit like my Hatty; so tell me all about it, dear, and see if I cannot make you feel better.”
“No, Bessie, don’t try; it is not any use, unless I jump into somebody else’s body and mind. I can’t make myself different. I am just Hatty, a tiresome, disagreeable, selfish little thing.”
“What a lot of adjectives! I wonder they don’t smother you. You are not big enough to carry so many. I think I could word that sentence better. I should just say, ‘Hatty is a poor, weak little body to whom mole-hills are mountains, and the grasshopper a burden.’ Does not that sound nicer?”
“Yes, if it were true,” returned Hatty sorrowfully, and then her ill-humor vanished. “No, don’t pet me, Bessie; I don’t deserve it,” as Bessie stroked her hand in a petting sort of a way. “I have been cross and ill-tempered all the week, just unbearable, as Christine said; but oh, Bessie, it seemed as though I could not help it. I was so miserable every night to think you were going away, that I could not sleep for ever so long, and then my head ached, and I felt as though I were strung on wires when I came down the next morning, and every time people laughed and said pleasant things I felt just mad, and the only relief was to show every one how disagreeable I could be.”
Hatty’s description of her overwrought feelings was so droll that Bessie with some difficulty refrained from laughing outright, but she knew how very real all this was to Hatty, so she exercised self-control, and said, quite gravely:
“And so you wanted to make us all miserable, too. That was hardly kind, was it, when we were all so sorry for you? I do think you have a great deal to bear, Hatty. I don’t mean because you are so weak in health; that could be easily borne; but it must be so sad always to look on the dark side of things. Of course, in some sense, we all project our own shadows; but you are not content with your own proper shadow, you go poking and peering about for imaginary ones, and so you are dark all round.”
“But your going away to Oatlands is not imaginary,” returned Hatty piteously.
“No, you foolish child. But I hope you do not grudge me a pleasant visit. That would be a great piece of substantial selfishness on your part, of which, I trust, my Hatty would not be capable. Supposing I gave in to this ridiculous fancy and said, ‘Hattie hates me to go away, so I will just stop at home, and Miss Sefton shall be disappointed.’ I wonder how you would like that?”