“Because I'm TIRED of it!” she cried; “sick to the soul of the stuffiness, and the glass cases, and the—the GOODNESS of it!”
Thorpe remembered his vision of the wild, wind-tossed pines, and sighed. He wanted very, very much to act in accordance with his sister's desires, although he winced under the sharp hurt pang of the sensitive man whose intended kindness is not appreciated. The impossibility of complying, however, reacted to shut his real ideas and emotions the more inscrutably within him.
“I'm afraid you would not find the girls' boarding-club scheme a good one, Helen,” said he. “You'd find it would work better in theory than in practice.”
“But it has worked with the other girls!” she cried.
“I think you would be better off here.”
Helen bravely choked back her disappointment.
“I might live here, but let the Seminary drop, anyway. That would save a good deal,” she begged. “I'd get quite as much good out of my work outside, and then we'd have all that money besides.”
“I don't know; I'll see,” replied Thorpe. “The mental discipline of class-room work might be a good thing.”
He had already thought of this modification himself, but with his characteristic caution, threw cold water on the scheme until he could ascertain definitely whether or not it was practicable. He had already paid the tuition for the year, and was in doubt as to its repayment. As a matter of fact, the negotiation took about two weeks.
During that time Helen Thorpe went through her disappointment and emerged on the other side. Her nature was at once strong and adaptable. One by one she grappled with the different aspects of the case, and turned them the other way. By a tour de force she actually persuaded herself that her own plan was not really attractive to her. But what heart-breaks and tears this cost her, only those who in their youth have encountered such absolute negations of cherished ideas can guess.