that sort of thing."

Platonic friendships became the rage. David himself, as leader,
maintained a dozen such, chiefest of which was with the newly finished
Miss Grey. At first her very soul revolted against a friendship of this
sort. She was lovely, and she knew it; with lovely clothes she made
herself even lovelier, and she knew this, too. She was young, and she
rejoiced in it. And she had always been a spoiled darling, and she
wished to be made much of, to cause a dozen hearts to beat in the breast
where but one beat before, to be followed, waited on, adored, bowed down
to, and worshipped. She wished yellow-flowering jealousy to sprout in
David's heart instead of the calm and loyal friendliness to which alone
the soil seemed adapted. She knew that he often wrote letters to a Miss
Tennant; and she would have liked very much to have this Miss Tennant in
her power, and to have scalped her there and then.

This was only at first, when she merely fancied David rather more than
other young men. But a time came when her fancy was stronger for him
than that; and then it seemed to her that even his platonic friendship
was worth more than all the great passions of history rolled into one.
Then from the character of that spoiled young lady were wiped clean
away, as the sponge wipes marks from a slate, vanity, whims, temper,
tantrums, thoughtlessness, and arrogance, and in their places appeared
the opposites. She sought out hard spots in people's lives and made them
soft; sympathy and gentleness radiated from her; thoughtfulness and
steadfastness.

Her grandfather, who had been reading Ibsen, remarked to himself: "It
may be artistically and dramatically inexcusable for the ingenue
suddenly to become the heroine--but _I_ like it. As to the cause----"
and the old gentleman rested in his deep chair till far into the night,
twiddling his thumbs and thinking long thoughts. Finally, frowning and
troubled, he rose and went off to his bed.

"Is it," thought he, "because he gave his word not to make love until he
had made good--or is it because he really doesn't give a damn about poor
little Vi? If it's the first reason, why he's absolved from that
promise, because he has made good, and every day he's making better. But
if it's the second reason, why then this world is a wicked, dreary
place. Poor little Vi--poor little Vi ... only two things in the whole
universe that she can't get--the moon, and David--the moon, and
David----"