t kill the heart out of women, till years of selfish pleasure have
passed over their heads. Trix was ashamed of herself; but she felt the
same antagonism toward Polly, that Polly did toward her; and, being less
generous, took satisfaction in plaguing her. Polly did not know that the
secret of this was the fact that Tom often held her up as a model for
his fiance to follow, which caused that young lady to dislike her more
than ever.

"Half the awful stories in the papers are made up for a sensation, and
it 's absurd to believe them, unless one likes to be harrowed up. I
don't; and as for peace, I 'm not likely to get much, while I have Tom
to look after," said Trix, with an aggravating laugh.

Polly's needle snapped in two, but she did not mind it, as she said,
with a look that silenced even sharp-tongued Trix, "I can't help
believing what my own eyes and ears have seen and heard. You lead such
safe and happy lives, you can't imagine the misery that is all round
you; but if you could get a glimpse of it, it would make your hearts
ache, as it has mine."

"Do you suffer from heartache? Some one hinted as much to me, but you
looked so well, I could n't believe it."

Now that was cruel in Trix, more cruel than any one guessed; but girls'
tongues can deal wounds as sharp and sudden as the slender stiletto
Spanish women wear in their hair, and Polly turned pale, as those words
stabbed her. Belle saw it, and rushed to the rescue with more good-will
than wisdom.

"Nobody ever accused you of having any heart to ache with. Polly and
I are not old enough yet to get tough and cool, and we are still silly
enough to pity unhappy people, Tom Shaw especially," added Belle, under
her breath.

That was a two-edged thrust, for Trix was decidedly an old girl, and Tom
was generally regarded as a hapless victim. Trix turned red; but before
she could load and fire again, Emma Davenport, who labored under the
delusion that this sort of skirmishing was ill-natured, and therefore
ill-bred, spoke up in her pleasant way, "Speaking of pitying the poor,
I always wonder why it is that we all like to read and cry over their
troubles in books, but when we have the real thing before us, we think
it is uninteresting and disagreeable."

"It 's the genius that gets into the books, which makes us like the
poverty, I fancy. But I don't quite agree that the real thing is n't
interesting. I think it would be, if we knew how to look at and feel
it," sai