Part 5 (1/2)

I don't think it's good for him out there--good for any boy.” And Susie looked quite the older sister.

”What are they to do? They can't stay here.”

”No, I suppose not--but we have to.”

”Dr. Bellair didn't,” remarked Vivian. ”I like her--tremendously, don't you?” In truth, Dr. Bellair was already a close second to Mrs.

St. Cloud in the girl's hero-wors.h.i.+pping heart.

”Oh, yes; she's splendid! Aunt Rella is so glad to have her with us.

They have great times recalling their school days together. Aunty used to like her then, though she is five years older--but you'd never dream it. And I think she's real handsome.”

”She's not beautiful,” said Vivian, with decision, ”but she's a lot better. Sue Elder, I wish----”

”Wish what?” asked her friend.

Sue put the books on the gate-post, and the two girls, arm in arm, walked slowly up and down.

Susie was a round, palely rosy little person, with a delicate face and soft, light hair waving fluffily about her small head. Vivian's hair was twice the length, but so straight and fine that its ma.s.s had no effect.

She wore it in smooth plaits wound like a wreath from brow to nape.

After an understanding silence and a walk past three gates and back again, Vivian answered her.

”I wish I were in your shoes,” she said.

”What do you mean--having the Doctor in the house?”

”No--I'd like that too; but I mean work to do--your position.”

”Oh, the library! You needn't; it's horrid. I wish I were in your shoes, and had a father and mother to take care of me. I can tell you, it's no fun--having to be there just on time or get fined, and having to poke away all day with those phooty old ladies and tiresome children.”

”But you're independent.”

”Oh, yes, I'm independent. I have to be. Aunt Rella _could_ take care of me, I suppose, but of course I wouldn't let her. And I dare say library work is better than school-teaching.”

”What'll we be doing when we're forty, I wonder?” said Vivian, after another turn.

”Forty! Why I expect to be a grandma by that time,” said Sue. She was but twenty-one, and forty looked a long way off to her.

”A grandma! And knit?” suggested Vivian.

”Oh, yes--baby jackets--and blankets--and socks--and little shawls. I love to knit,” said Sue, cheerfully.

”But suppose you don't marry?” pursued her friend.

”Oh, but I shall marry--you see if I don't. Marriage”--here she carefully went inside the gate and latched it--”marriage is--a woman's duty!” And she ran up the path laughing.

Vivian laughed too, rather grimly, and slowly walked towards her own door.

The little sitting-room was hot, very hot; but Mr. Lane sat with his carpet-slippered feet on its narrow hearth with a shawl around him.

”Shut the door, Vivian!” he exclaimed irritably. ”I'll never get over this cold if such draughts are let in on me.”