“Yes, I know.” Florence gave Ellen a nod of recognition. “How pairfectly wonderful that she readth French. I wish I could. Thome day maybe I’ll learn. Mamma wanth me to go to Parith to finish. They thay one can learn a language better where they thpeak it all the time; ith much the eathietht way. I never mean to thudy any harder than I can help. Jutht enough to let me thlip through. Can’t you take a walk with me thith afternoon, Caro? We might meet thome boys who’d join uth. Thereth a real handthome new boy at Fuller’th.” “Well, let him stay there,” retorted Caro. “I don’t want to see him. I’ve got my algebra to tackle anyway, so count me out.” “You old greathy grind! What do you want to do that for? What ith an algebra problem more or leth? Have all the fun you can get and let the old algebra go, I thay.” “No, sir, duty first and pleasure after. If you must go boy hunting, find some better companion. There are plenty of others. Me for the unknown quantities.” “Ithn’t she an old thoberthideth?” exclaimed Florence. “You come, Ellen.” “No, I have my practising to do and then my lessons.” “What a pair of old thtick-in-the-mudth,” declared Florence walking away in disgust, leaving Ellen more drawn to Caro than ever. “She’s such a silly child,” commented Caro. “Now I like fun just as well as anybody, but I never did see any in running after boys. Lots of the girls do it, I know, but I think they make themselves perfectly ridiculous giggling and making eyes at every boy they meet.” “Don’t you like boys?” “Yes, well enough, but not in that silly way, certainly not enough to run after them. Do you like them, Ellen?” “Why, yes, I think so. I’ve never known very many. Living in a studio as we did, there wasn’t much chance of meeting them. Father and Mother entertained only the grown-up artists and musicians, and they were always such fun that I didn’t miss younger company. If I had gone to an art school I suppose I might have met dozens.” “Think of you living in a studio. How wonderful!” Caro looked at her companion as if she were a being from another world, which in a certain sense she was. From this hour Carolyn was Ellen’s devoted admirer. Ellen’s past experiences fascinated her. She was a creature of romance, one quite outside the usual humdrum person of every day, who had lived in a mysterious world of her own, who had gone through tragic experiences, and was, as Caro declared, “just like a heroine in a book.” Every now and then some new chapter was opened over which Caro gloated, and this sympathy and interest meant much to Ellen, although Caro was not a congenial companion in all directions.