“But I don’t any more!”—the daisy was tossed aside.
“No?”
“No; I’m like a five-year-old that’s had too much candy, I suppose. I’ve seen the Alps and the Rockies, the Rhine and the St. Lawrence; and yet, the first time I looked at that view I felt just as you did. But now——!”
“You need something outside yourself to give zest to your life, my dear,” said Dorothy, her eyes on the town below.
Ethel looked at her narrowly.
“Now see here, my dear, I love you—and you know it, but I just can’t stand any of that settlement talk!”
“I never said settlement,” laughed Dorothy, her eyes still on the straggling cottages.
“I know, but—well, I just simply can’t! How in the world you stand those dismal sounds and sights and—and smells,” she added, with a grimace, “I don’t understand.”
“I suppose the miners live in those cottages,” mused Dorothy aloud, as though she had not heard.
“I suppose so,” acquiesced Ethel indifferently. “Others live over the hill in Westmont.”