repented," said Agatha, unmoved. "One day I sat down and watched
Bacchus seated on the hearthrug, with his moony eyes looking into space
so thoughtfully and patiently that I apologized for comparing you to
him. If I were to call him a spiteful cat he would only not believe me."

"Because he is a cat," said Jane, with the giggle which was seldom far
behind her tears.

"No; but because he is not spiteful. Gertrude keeps a recording angel
inside her little head, and it is so full of other people's faults,
written in large hand and read through a magnifying glass, that there is
no room to enter her own."

"You are very poetic," said Gertrude; "but I understand what you mean,
and shall not forget it."

"You ungrateful wretch," exclaimed Agatha, turning upon her so suddenly
and imperiously that she involuntarily shrank aside: "how often, when
you have tried to be insolent and false with me, have I not driven away
your bad angel--by tickling you? Had you a friend in the college, except
half-a-dozen toadies, until I came? And now, because I have sometimes,
for your own good, shown you your faults, you bear malice against me,
and say that you don't care whether we part friends or not!"

"I didn't say so."

"Oh, Gertrude, you know you did," said Jane.

"You seem to think that I have no conscience," said Gertrude
querulously.

"I wish you hadn't," said Agatha. "Look at me! I have no conscience, and
see how much pleasanter I am!"

"You care for no one but yourself," said Gertrude. "You never think that
other people have feelings too. No one ever considers me."

"Oh, I like to hear you talk," cried Jane ironically. "You are
considered a great deal more than is good for you; and the more you are
considered the more you want to be considered."

"As if," declaimed Agatha theatrically, "increase of appetite did grow
by what it fed on. Shakespeare!"

"Bother Shakespeare," said Jane, impetuously, "--old fool that expects
credit for saying things that everybody knows! But if you complain
of not being considered, Gertrude, how would you like to be me, whom
everybody sets down as a fool? But I am not such a fool as--"

"As you look," interposed Agatha. "I have told you so scores of times,
Jane; and I am glad that you have adopted my opinion at last. Which
would you rather be, a greater fool than y--"

"Oh, shut up," said Jane, impatiently; "you have asked me that twice
this week already."

The three were silent for some se