How strange that it should have been so hard for Gypsy; that it had cost her a _sacrifice_ to welcome her cousin; how strange that they could ever have quarreled so; how strange all those ugly, dark memories of the first few months they spent together--the jealousy, the selfishness, the dislike of each other, the constant fretting and jarring, the longing for the time that should separate them.

And now it had come, and here they sat looking at each other and crying--quite sure their hearts were broken! The two tears rolled down into Gypsy's smile, and she swallowed them before she spoke: "I do believe it's all owing to that verse!" "What verse ?" "Why, Peace Maythorne's.

I suppose she and mother would say we'd tried somehow or other to prefer one another in honor, you know, and that's the thing of it.

Because you see I know if I'd always had everything my own way, I shouldn't have liked you a bit, and I'd have been real glad when you went off." "Joyce, Joyce!" called her father from the entry, "Here's the coach.
It's time to be getting ready to cry and kiss all around." "Oh--hum!" said Gypsy.
"I know it," said Joy, not very clear as to what she was talking about.
"Where's my bag?
Oh, yes.

And my parasol?
Oh there's Winnie riding horseback on it.