Janet stuck her needle into the material on her knee, and looked up
searchingly.
"What's the matter with you to-night?" she asked.
"Nothing's the matter. Why?"
"You're so officiously agreeable."
Sally laughed.
"You wanted to help Mrs. Hewson to make that mincemeat," Janet
continued; "now you want to help me; and you were the soul of
good-nature to Mr. Arthur. I'm sure he thinks you're going to accept
him."
"No, he doesn't."
"How do you know?"
"I told him after supper. He asked me to come out with him. I told
him I couldn't marry him."
Janet looked at her with curiosity, her eyes narrowed, judging the
tone of the words rather than the words themselves, as if they were
subject for her brush.
"How did he take it?" she asked, gaining time for the maturity of
her judgment.
"I feel awfully sorry for him. He went out again when I came in."
"Takes it badly, then?"
"I'm afraid so."
"You're sorry for him?"
"Yes."
"Why? You haven't thrown him over. He's taken his chance--he'll get
over it. You're very soft-hearted. It's all in the game. You'll have
to take your chance as well, and no one'll be sorry for you if you
come worst out of it.
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