"Find three stanzas of poetry which you could say are 'A joy forever.'" "How do I know whether they are a joy forever?" she demanded irately of Judith; "I've been hunting for an hour and I can't find any. I don't know what it's all about most of the time." "But didn't you like 'The Skylark,' and 'The Forsaken Merman,' and 'The Lotus-Eaters,' and 'Ulysses,' and 'The Lady of Shalott' and--oh, Nancy, there are lots to choose from. Let's find some that sound nice and some that have beautiful pictures in them." They spent a happy hour together, for Judith loved poetry, and it was nice to share it with Nancy. Looking back afterwards that seemed to Judith to be the last happy hour she had with Nancy for some time. Judith hardly noticed just when it began, but for some reason or other Nancy and Sally May were together now a great deal of their time. "Choosing partners" was a sacred rite at York Hill, and now it seemed that Nancy and Sally May were always partners for walks, for church, for the symphony concert, and for Miss Meredith's dinner-party. This last was a great disappointment to Judith. Miss Meredith's dinner-parties were very special treats; about once a fortnight she entertained half a dozen girls at her own dinner-table and, when Nancy had told Judith about these parties, Judith had taken it for granted that they would be partners if they happened to be invited together. And now Sally May was going with Nancy! An ugly little spirit of jealousy began to whisper in Judith's mind. Top Self listened to his hints and surmises: "Nancy doesn't care about you any more; she and Sally May have secrets from you; perhaps they were laughing at you last night when you heard them whispering." Deep-Down Self made protests, "Why couldn't Nancy have two good friends? Of course she still loves you; you can't expect her to be always with you." But Judith's heart was sore, and a teasing remark of Sally May's as they were dressing for the dinner entirely spoilt the evening for her. Sally May came in to ask Judith to help her with a difficult fastener, and she surveyed Judith's reflection in the mirror while Judith snapped the refractory dome. "You look stunning, Judy; I'm sure that if Tim could see you he would return the compliment and say that you looked 'just lovely,'" she added wickedly. The colour flowed over Judith's face and then receded leaving her quite white. So Nancy had told Sally May about her foolish speech in the Christmas holidays! How horrid of her! How mean! Judith had almost forgotten about Tim by this time, but her love for Nancy had steadily grown, and Nancy had been making fun of her behind her back! Judith gave herself up to angry thoughts; almost she hated Nancy; she wanted to go away, to be alone, to hide some place; and instead she must go to this miserable dinner and perhaps sit just across the table from Nancy. The thought of Nancy's disloyalty hurt; it hurt horribly.