"Me," she interrupted, frowning.

"Couldn't you have it for your birthday?" I suggested. "I may have some
more money by then. Besides, I gave you--"

"No, I could not," replied Janet in a voice like the end of the world; "I
want it now. I will not wear myself out trying to live up to an impossible
ideal, and lose all my friends because they can't help comparing me with
it. And it isn't even as if it were my own ideal. I never know what I've
got to be like from one week to another. And what do I get for my
struggles? Not even recognition, much less gratitude."

"Janet," I said kindly, "I don't know _what_ you're talking about. Who are
these people who keep idealising you? I will not have you annoyed in this
way. Send them to me and I'll put a little solid realism into their heads.
I'll tell them what you really are, and that'll settle their unfortunate
illusions. Dear old girl, don't worry so.... I'll soon put it right."

Janet looked at me piercingly.

"It's this," she said; "I keep having people to call on me."

"I know," I answered, shuddering; "but I can't help it, can I? You
shouldn't be so attractive."

"Dear Willyum," she replied, "that's just the point; you _can_ help it."

"Stop calling me names and I'll see what can be done."