Page:The Yellow Book - 08.djvu/229

When Nancy came up to bed, she found her sister working away steadily at her drawing.

"It was very mean of you to leave me so long with that man, Jean; he stayed quite an hour after you left," she said, suppressing a yawn.

"Oh, I thought you wouldn't mind; I don't get on with him half so well as you do. Stand out of the light, will you?"

"He thinks you're immensely clever," said Nancy; "he says he never met any one so determined and plucky in his life. Of course you will get on, he says."

"Yes," said Jean with a strange smile, as she nibbled the top of her pencil; "I suppose I shall get on. And to the end of my days people will admire me from a distance, and talk about my talent and my determination, just as they talk about your beauty and your womanly ways. That is so like the world; it always associates us with a certain atmosphere and never admits the possibility of any other."

Nancy was perched on the end of the bed in her white peignoir, with her knees up to her chin and a puzzled expression on her face. "How queer you are to-night, Jean," she said; "I don't think I understand."

"My atmosphere," continued Jean in the same passionless tone, "is the clever and capable one. It is the one that is always reserved for the unattractive people who have understanding, the sort of people who know all there is to know, from observation, and never get the chance of experiencing one jot of it. They are the people who learn about life from the outside, and remain half alive themselves to the end of time. Nobody would think of falling in love with them, and they don't even know how to be lovable. It is a very clinging atmosphere," she added sadly; "I shall never shake it off."Nancy