“How do I look?” asked Aileen.
“Well, as if you were uncertain or troubled about something. I never saw you look that way before. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing,” replied Aileen. “I was just thinking.” She went to one of the windows which looked into the little yard, meditating on whether she could endure living here for any length of time. The house was so small, the furnishings so very simple.
“There is something the matter with you to-day, Aileen,” observed Mamie, coming over to her and looking in her face. “You’re not like yourself at all.”
“I’ve got something on my mind,” replied Aileen—“something that’s worrying me. I don’t know just what to do—that’s what’s the matter.”
“Well, whatever can it be?” commented Mamie. “I never saw you act this way before. Can’t you tell me? What is it?”
“No, I don’t think I can—not now, anyhow.” Aileen paused. “Do you suppose your mother would object,” she asked, suddenly, “if I came here and stayed a little while? I want to get away from home for a time for a certain reason.”
“Why, Aileen Butler, how you talk!” exclaimed her friend. “Object! You know she’d be delighted, and so would I. Oh, dear—can you come? But what makes you want to leave home?”
“That’s just what I can’t tell you—not now, anyhow. Not you, so much, but your mother. You know, I’m afraid of what she’d think,” replied Aileen. “But, you mustn’t ask me yet, anyhow. I want to think. Oh, dear! But I want to come, if you’ll let me. Will you speak to your mother, or shall I?”
“Why, I will,” said Mamie, struck with wonder at this remarkable development; “but it’s silly to do it. I know what she’ll say before I tell her, and so do you. You can just bring your things and come. That’s all. She’d never say anything or ask anything, either, and you know that—if you didn’t want her to.” Mamie was all agog and aglow at the idea. She wanted the companionship of Aileen so much.