e was the
most unselfish girl I ever knew, and was always going out of her way to
be nice to people.

Flora was poor. She went to college by means of a loan from a rich
woman, and kept herself there by winning scholarships. She expected to
teach for a living, and she hated the prospect. She had to work hard
for everything she had, which was probably the reason why she was so
selfish. To be sure, she was always offering you things, but it was
either after some one else had offered first, or else she offered
things you couldn't possibly want. And as to offering to do things for
you, I never saw her equal at the formula, "I am going down-town.
Can't I do something for you?" Yet if you by any chance made the
mistake of saying, "That's awfully good of you. I _would_ like three
yards of French nainsook," in half an hour Flora would come in with the
story that she had been telephoned out to luncheon and wasn't going
down-town, or else had a headache and couldn't go, after all; or, if
she went, she did her own shopping first and came in breathless with a
"I'm so tired! I went everywhere for your French nainsook, but every
shop was just out of it. I tried _so_ hard, and now you'll think I am
just stupid and _can't_ shop."

At which you always had to comfort her and do something extra for
her, to show that you didn't blame her in the least. Whenever she
had grossly imposed upon you, Flora had a way of looking at you
with what I called the "dog look,"--a humble, faithful, adoring,
"don't-kick-me-because-I-love-you-so" look, which used to give me
what Angel calls the jiggle-jaggles, which is only another name for
twitching nerves,--either mental or physical.

However, I have noticed that these people who are always offering their
"Can't I do something for you?" never expect to be taken up. I suppose
it isn't in human nature any more to be helpful to a friend. The
answer to that question is "Thank you so much, dear, for offering, but
I really don't want a thing!" That cements the friendship.

Cary was honest, straightforward, and thoughtful. Flora was crafty,
deceitful, and brilliant, but her innocent eyes and baby ways made her
cleverness seem like that of a precocious child, so that she always
disarmed suspicion.

She deceived me so skilfully and completely that I find myself
thoroughly mixed in describing her, for at one moment I tell how she
appeared to me at first, and the next I find myself setting her fort