“You don’t know,” murmured Fanny, wiping her wet eyes. “I didn’t tell you she came to see me.” “She did!” “Yes; it was after we had all been there, and mother was going on so about the furniture. It all seemed so mean and sordid to me, as if we were trying to—well, you know.” Ellen nodded: “Of course I do. That’s why you wouldn’t let her have your furniture. I gloried in your spunk, Fan.” “But I did let her have it, Ellen.” “You did? Well!” “I’ll tell you how it happened. Mother’d gone down to the village, and Jim was off somewhere—he’s never in the house day-times any more; I’d been working on the new curtains all day, and I was just putting them up in the parlor, when she came.... Ellen, sometimes I think perhaps we don’t understand that girl. She was just as sweet— If it wasn’t for— If I hadn’t hardened my heart against her almost the first thing, you know, I don’t believe I could help loving her.” “Fanny!” cried Ellen protestingly. “She certainly is a soft-soap artist. My mother says she is so refined; and Mrs. Daggett is always chanting her praises.” “Think of all she’s done for the village,” urged Fanny. “I want to be just, even if—” “Well, I don’t!” cried Ellen. “I just enjoy being real spiteful sometimes—especially when another girl gobbles all the men in sight; and I know I’m prettier than she is. It’s just because she’s new and—and stylish and rich. What made you give in about your furniture, Fan?” “Because I—” Fanny stopped short, puckering her forehead. “I don’t know whether I can explain it, Ellen; but I notice it every time I am with her. There’s something—” “Good gracious, Fan! She must have hypnotized you.” “Be quiet, Ellen, I’m trying to think just how it happened. She didn’t say so very much—just sat down and watched me, while I sewed rings on the curtains. But the first thing I knew, I piped up and said: ‘Do you really want that old furniture of mine so much?’ And she said— Well, no matter what she said; it was more the way she looked. I guess I’d have given her the eyes out of my head, or any old thing.” “That’s just what I told you,” interrupted Ellen. “There are people like that. Don’t you remember that horrid old what’s-his-name in ‘Trilby’?” “Don’t be silly, Ellen,” said Fanny rebukingly. “Well, I took her up to my room and showed her my bed and bureau and washstand. There were some chairs, too; mother got them all for my room at that old auction we’ve heard so much about; I was just a baby then. I told her about it. She sat down in my rocking-chair by the window and just looked at the things, without saying a word, at first. After a while, she said: ‘Your mother used to come in and tuck the blankets around you nice and warm in the night; didn’t she?’”