Now, you
know very well that she will never get all this so long as Bell
Winship is in camp, for the boys think that Bell drags up the sun
when she's ready for him in the morning, and pushes him down at night
when she happens to feel sleepy.
We, who have known Bell always, cannot realise that any one can help
loving her, but there is something in Laura which makes it impossible
for her to see the right side of people. She told me this morning
that she thought Bell had grown so vain and airy and self-conscious
that it was painful to see her. I could not help being hurt; for you
know what Bell is--brimful of nonsense and sparkle and bright
speeches, but just as open as the day and as warm as the sunshine.
If she could have been spoiled, we should have turned her head long
ago; but she hasn't a bit of silly vanity, and I never met any one
before who didn't see the pretty charm of her brightness and
goodness--did you?
And yet, somehow, Laura sticks needles into her every time she
speaks. She feels them, too, but it only makes her quiet, for she is
too proud and sensitive to resent it. I can see that she is
different in her ways, as if she felt she was being criticised.
Polly is quite the reverse. If anybody hurts her feelings she makes
creation scream, and I admire her courage.
Aunt Truth doesn't know anything about all this, for Laura is a
different girl when she is with her or Dr. Paul; not that she is
deceitful, but that she is honestly anxious for their good opinion.
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