Neith Boyce

“ As the gate clicked behind Cecilia a young girl jumped up from the hammock and met her at the steps. Bertha Clayber was just seventeen, and promised to be more beautiful, in a subtler way, than her sister. She looked now rather draggled, in a light print gown much soiled and collarless, her dark hair strained up from the nape of her slender neck into a tight topknot, a palm-leaf fan in her hand. ”

“ Bertha says you don't mean to go to-night."
"No," said Cecilia. "As long as you're going, you can look after Bertha."
"Yes, but what's happened? You're always so set on going to everything there is."
"Well, mother, you know why. Bertha has got to be looked after. And I couldn't afford to miss any chances for myself. But—I'm tired to-night. I've got some news for you."
"Yes? What is it?" Mrs. Clayber's face in its sudden flash of curiosity looked much like Bertha's. ”

“ I'm too tired."
"Oh Cecilia! Now, that spoils everything! If you don't go, Mr. Jackson won't, and I'll have to go with Ma and Mabel——"
"Well, don't bother me now, Bertha. I'm going to lie down a little before dinner. Hadn't you better go and set the table?"
"Oh, I suppose so. I wish we could have something good to eat for a change—or some new dishes or something—or a girl. I hate housework—I'd a hundred times rather work in an office the way you do, and I will too when I get through school. I'm going to have three plates of ice-cream to-night anyway. ”