“I should think you’d make a lot of mistakes that way,” Aunt Lois said.

Marcia admitted that the type did sort of jumble up, but that’s the way you had to do it; you looked up at the ceiling and banged away, and that was the touch system, the first thing required of an office worker. She didn’t see how anyone could be expected to have the finished product perfect when they wouldn’t let you look at the keys. She also didn’t see how she could be expected to be an expert when her stepmother had forbidden her to hang around the telegraph office any more, because she made trouble for Vance, telling customers that he was practicing in the music store or had stepped out to take a walk with Bonnie Purdy, until a warning came that he might be fired, all due to Miss Know-it-all.

Marcia was settling into a cozy chat when the clanging of the twelve-fifty Cincinnati Express brought her to the realization that they were already late for dinner and would have to make up some excuse for being late. She snatched Florrie’s Sunday school hat and jammed it on the tousled head, yanked her out the door and flew down the street. Lena left the table to stand in the bay window and watch them as far as the turn in the street. When Aunt Lois reminded her that Marcia had forgotten to give back the coral beads, Lena said she guessed she’d let her keep them, because she liked her blue beads the best anyway. She resumed her place at the table in a rather gloomy mood, which she maintained the rest of the day. Aunt Lois did not like Mary Evelyn and disapproved of Lena going around with her. She said Mary Evelyn painted her cheeks and chased after boys, both of these occupations appealing enormously to Lena too. But if you couldn’t play around with your bosom friend, you might as well play with your sisters. Only now she was an only child, Lena thought, something she had always longed to be, but it wasn’t much fun really, except for the clothes and the presents, and half the fun of even these rewards was in showing them off to your sisters. Nothing ever turned out perfect.

34

IN ANOTHER WEEK SCHOOL would open. David Gross told Marcia of the new courses there would be in high school, the new things he was going to learn.

“General history,” he said, dreamily staring into space through his thick glasses. “That’s about Nebuchadnezzar and his hanging gardens. I’ll take that, and so would you, Marcia. You and I would probably be the only ones that would like it.”

“I know,” said Marcia gloomily.

“English literature,” pursued David. He got out a pencil and began writing it all down on the back of the parcel he was about to mail to his father (some fudge his sister Fannie had just made).

“I’ve read it all,” Marcia said. “I’ve read more than Miss Burlington has anyway.”