She had an odd feeling as though
Beryl--the first girl friend she had ever had--might be slipping away
from her. "You want to go back to New York?" she asked stupidly.
"Of course, silly. There isn't anything, here."
"Then you ought to go. Beryl, you _must_ go. I'm going to give you the
rest of the money--what I saved from the Queen's Christmas gift
and--and--my allowance. Oh, please, Beryl, _don't_ look like that!"
"Thanks!" Beryl's voice rang cold. "But I'm not reduced to charity, yet.
Of course I've been kidding myself that I earn all the money you pay me
for living here--with a few clothes thrown in. Don't think I don't know
what those horrid creatures at the Mills say about me being proud and
too stuck-up to work like Dale and the others. They even taunt Dale. I
hate myself when I think of it. And all I'm earning wouldn't keep me
very long--if I ever did go to study. Oh, I just hate--_hate_--_hate_
being poor!" Her voice broke in a great sob.
Robin wanted to throw her arms about her and comfort her but she was
afraid for Beryl looked like a different being. And, while she
hesitated, Beryl flung herself out of the room.
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