Mary caressed and soothed her, and told her she could well guess it
was sadder to her now than even at first.
"Well, it is," said Carey, looking up. "If one was sent out to sea
in a boat, it wouldn't be near so bad as long as one could see the
dear old shore still, as when one had got out-—out into the wide
open-—with nothing at all."
And she stretched out her hands with a dreary, yearning gesture into
the vacant space, such as it went to her friend's heart to see.
"Ah! but there's a haven at the end."
"I suppose there is," said Carey; "but it's a long way off, and
there's dying first, and when people want to begin about it, they get
so conventional, and if there's one thing above another that I can't
stand, it is being bored."
"My poor child!"
"There, don't be angry with me, because I'm telling you just what I
am!"
Before any more could be said Janet opened the door, saying, "Mother,
Emma wants to see you."
"Oh! I forgot," cried Carey, hurrying off, while Janet came forward
to the guest in her grown-up way, and asked—-
"Have you been to the Water-Colour Exhibition, Miss Ogilvie?"
"Yes; Mr. Acton took me one Saturday afternoon."
"Oh! then he would be sure to show you Nita Ray's picture. I want so
much to know how it strikes people.
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