“And I, Mary, between two such flowers, what am I?” continued Fan. “Someone once called me a flower, but he must have been thinking of some poor scentless thing—a daisy, perhaps.”
“Say a heart's-ease, Fan,” said Mary, turning round again to her friend with a little laugh.
“But I haven't finished yet. Both so proud and high-spirited, and yet with such loving, tender hearts.”
“That is the most arrant nonsense, Fan. You must be a goose, or what is almost as bad, a hypocrite, to say that I have any love or tenderness in me. I confess that I did once have a little affection for you, but that is pretty well over now.”
Fan laughed incredulously, and put her arms round her friend's neck.
“No,” said the other resolutely, “you are not going to wheedle me in that way. I hate all women, I think, but especially those that have any resemblance to me in character.”
“She is your exact opposite in everything,” said Fan boldly. “Darling Mary, say that you will see her just to please me. And if you can't like her then, you needn't see her a second time.”
Mary wavered, and at length said:
“You can call with her, if you like, Fan.”
“No, Mary, I couldn't do that. You are both proud, but you are rich and she is poor—too poor to dress well, but too proud to take a dress as a present from me.”