“You care for no one but yourself,” said Gertrude. “You never think that other people have feelings too. No one ever considers me.” “Oh, I like to hear you talk,” cried Jane ironically. “You are considered a great deal more than is good for you; and the more you are considered the more you want to be considered.” “As if,” declaimed Agatha theatrically, “increase of appetite did grow by what it fed on. Shakespeare!” “Bother Shakespeare,” said Jane, impetuously, “--old fool that expects credit for saying things that everybody knows! But if you complain of not being considered, Gertrude, how would you like to be me, whom everybody sets down as a fool? But I am not such a fool as--” “As you look,” interposed Agatha. “I have told you so scores of times, Jane; and I am glad that you have adopted my opinion at last. Which would you rather be, a greater fool than y--” “Oh, shut up,” said Jane, impatiently; “you have asked me that twice this week already.” The three were silent for some seconds after this: Agatha meditating, Gertrude moody, Jane vacant and restless. At last Agatha said: “And are you two also smarting under a sense of the inconsiderateness and selfishness of the rest of the world--both misunderstood--everything expected from you, and no allowances made for you?” “I don’t know what you mean by both of us,” said Gertrude coldly. “Neither do I,” said Jane angrily. “That is just the way people treat me. You may laugh, Agatha; and she may turn up her nose as much as she likes; you know it’s true. But the idea of Gertrude wanting to make out that she isn’t considered is nothing but sentimentality, and vanity, and nonsense.” “You are exceedingly rude, Miss Carpenter,” said Gertrude. “My manners are as good as yours, and perhaps better,” retorted Jane. “My family is as good, anyhow.” “Children, children,” said Agatha, admonitorily, “do not forget that you are sworn friends.” “We didn’t swear,” said Jane. “We were to have been three sworn friends, and Gertrude and I were willing, but you wouldn’t swear, and so the bargain was cried off.” “Just so,” said Agatha; “and the result is that I spend all my time in keeping peace between you. And now, to go back to our subject, may I ask whether it has ever occurred to you that no one ever considers me?” “I suppose you think that very funny. You take good care to make yourself considered,” sneered Jane. “You cannot say that I do not consider you,” said Gertrude reproachfully. “Not when I tickle you, dear.” “I consider you, and I am not ticklesome,” said Jane tenderly. “Indeed! Let me try,” said Agatha, slipping her arm about Jane’s ample waist, and eliciting a piercing combination of laugh and scream from her. “Sh--sh,” whispered Gertrude quickly. “Don’t you see the Lady Abbess?” Miss Wilson had just entered the room. Agatha, without appearing to be aware of her presence, stealthily withdrew her arm, and said aloud: