Patience had an unusually keen insight into character, and she had made up her mind not to get beyond the point of exchanging common civilities with the disgruntled young woman who seemed determined to go through college with her eyes tightly closed to her own interests.
That the newspaper girl possessed a fondness for study and never neglected her lessons was a point in her favor, in Patience's eyes.

As the daughter of a well-known man of letters she had inherited her father's love of study and an appreciation of that same love in others.
She frequently smiled at the clever, caustic remarks the strange, moody girl was wont to make about everything and everybody, and occasionally she surprised even Kathleen herself by her ready appreciation of the themes the latter wrote.
It was several weeks before the two young women even became accustomed to each other.

During that time Kathleen learned that Patience was proof against her aggressiveness, and not half so narrow-minded as she had thought; while Patience discovered, to her dismay, that in spite of Kathleen's undoubted wit and brilliancy, she disliked her rather more, if anything, than on first acquaintance.
"I feel quite conscience-stricken over it," she confided to Grace one afternoon as they started down College Street for a short walk before dinner.

"I wouldn't tell any one else, Grace, but I simply can't like Miss West.

I've tried, and I can't.