Regina really,
though the breach between them seemed slowly widening. All sorts of
silly things helped to push them apart. For Marion's birthday Lesbia
worked a little silk bag. It was the sort of fancy article which was
fashionable in the school at the moment, to hold knitting-wool and any
other trifles. Lesbia had put her prettiest design and her best
embroidery into it, and Marion had professed herself utterly delighted.

"It's almost too nice to use," she declared ecstatically. "I shall keep
it in a drawer at home, wrapped up in tissue paper, and only bring it
out on high-days and holidays."

"Oh, nonsense! It was made for use," demurred Lesbia, pleased all the
same at the high value set upon her handiwork.

It is sometimes very unfortunate when people take us at our own word.
Lesbia, going into the cloakroom at eleven, about a fortnight after the
birthday, was horrified to find her beautiful bag lying on the floor
near the boot rack. It had evidently contained lunch, for it was smeared
with butter, and showed plum stains at the bottom. It was indeed just
the wreck of her pretty present. She picked it up, and the hot colour
rushed into her face. It takes a St. Francis of Assisi to be "sweetly
angered and patiently disquieted". Lesbia's anger was anything but
saintly. It savoured, indeed, more of the sinner. She rushed across to
where Marion was standing eating red Victoria plums, and held the
unfortunate bag up by its scarlet cord.

"So this is the care you take of things people make for you," she
exploded.

Marion looked conscious, but at once excused herself.

"Well, you told me to use it," she retorted.

"I never thought you'd get it into such a filthy mess as this. It's only
fit for the laundry, and washing will utterly spoil it."

"I'm sorry----"

"Oh, don't apologize," snapped Lesbia sarcastically. "I know my poor
little efforts weren't worth taking care of. I didn't put in any time
over that bag. Oh, dear no!"

She turned away, feeling sore and uncomfortable, and at bottom ashamed
of her outburst. She knew how untidy and careless Marion was, seizing up
anything that came to hand, and that the ruin of the bag was certainly
by accident and not design. By some strange freak of memory an axiom of
Minnie's--kind, easy-going Minnie--flashed into her mind:

"It's best to take people just as they are, and then you get along with
them."

Marion would always be shiftless, and impulsive, and tactless; sti