Jane came in one day and found me prostrate on my couch, with a light of
sufering in my eyes.
"Dearest!" cried Jane, and gliding to my side, fell on her knees.
"Jane!"
"What is it? You are ill?"
I could hardly more than whisper. In a low tone I said:
"He is dead."
"Dearest!"
"Drowned!"
At first she thought I meant a member of my Familey. But when she
understood she looked serious.
"You are too intence, Bab," she said solemly. "You suffer too much. You
are wearing yourself out."
"There is no other way," I replied in broken tones.
Jane went to the Mirror and looked at herself. Then she turned to me.
"Others don't do it."
"I must work out my own Salvation, Jane," I observed firmly. But she had
roused me from my apathy, and I went into Sis's room, returning with
a box of candy some one had sent her. "I must feel, Jane, or I cannot
write."
"Pooh! Loads of writers get fat on it. Why don't you try Comedy? It pays
well."
"Oh--MONEY!" I said, in a disgusted tone.
"Your FORTE, of course, is Love," she said. "Probably that's because
you've had so much experience." Owing to certain reasons it is generaly
supposed that I have experienced the gentle Passion. But not so, alas!
"Bab," Jane said, suddenly, "I have been your friend for a long time. I
have never betrayed you. You can trust me with your Life. Why don't you
tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"Somthing has happened. I see it in your eyes. No girl who is happy
and has not a tradgic story stays at home shut up at a messy desk when
everyone is out at the Club playing tennis.
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