"Don't fool yourself for a minute," she said. "This literary pose has
not fooled anybody. Either you're doing it to apear Interesting, or
you've done somthing you're scared about. Which is it?"

I refused to reply.

"Because if it's the first, and you're trying to look literary, you are
going about it wrong," she said. "Real Literary People don't go round
mooning and talking about the ople sea."

I saw mother had been talking, and I drew myself up.

"They look and act like other people," said Leila, going to the bureau
and spilling Powder all over the place. "Look at Beecher."

"Beecher!" I cried, with a thrill that started inside my elbows. (I
have read this to one or two of the girls, and they say there is no such
thrill. But not all people act alike under the influence of emotion, and
mine is in my Arms, as stated.)

"The playwright," Sis said. "He's staying next door. And if he does any
languishing it is not by himself."

There may be some who have for a long time had an Ideal, but without
hoping ever to meet him, and then suddenly learning that he is nearby,
with indeed but a wall or two between, can be calm and cool. But I am
not like that. Although long supression has taught me to disemble at
times, where my Heart is concerned I am powerless.