"No, she walked up to the village to post a letter. We aren't going in until the eleven-fifty-four. Did you want to see her?"
"No, oh, no. You see, I—I——" Alma stammered, turning scarlet, and fidgeting nervously with the button on her glove. "You see, I wondered if you could lend me—lend me just a little bit of money. I—I'll pay it right back. You see, I don't want Mildred—I mean this is a sort of Dutch treat——"
"Why, of course," laughed Nancy, touched and a little bit hurt by Alma's embarrassment. Heretofore they had borrowed and lent to each other without the thought of explaining why they needed the money, and her sister's constraint marked with painful clearness her sense of the coldness between them. "How much do you want?"
"Could you lend me—ten dollars? Or seven would do. I won't use it all, of course, but—but it's better to have it."
Ten dollars was a good bit more than either of the girls had spent on any pleasure before the Porterbridges' dance; but Nancy said nothing, and going to her top bureau drawer, took out her pocketbook and gave Alma the bill without a second glance into the purse.
"Oh, thank you—oh, Nancy!" Alma looked into her sister's face, and the tears came suddenly to her eyes.
"Goodness, you don't have to thank me like that," said Nancy, flushing. "You know that it's no more my money than yours, dear——"
"You're—you're so good to me, Nancy—-oh—I didn't mean——" and all at once Alma, who could restrain her sweet impulses no more easily than her weak ones, flung her arms around Nancy, and burst out crying. "Oh, darling Nancy, don't be angry with me any more. I can't bear it!"
"Alma, dearest—-I'm not angry—oh, I'm so glad—so glad!" cried Nancy, in tears, too; they clung together fiercely, every hard word forgotten in the joy of "making up."
"There, darling, you'll miss your train. There now, it's all just as it was. Oh, see, your hat's all over your eye"—they began to laugh tremulously. "You'd better put a little cold water on your face, sweetheart—and dust a little powder over it."