'
'If you please,' said Helen. 'Will you come up to my room? I keep
all my own things there, out of the way of the critics.'
'What critics?' inquired Anne.
'Lizzie, to be sure, and Papa,' said Helen; 'I think them the
severest people I know.'
'Do you indeed!' said Anne.
'Do not you?' said Helen; 'does not Lizzie say the sharpest things
possible? I am sure she does to me, and she never likes anything I
do. If there is any little fault in it, she and Papa always look at
that, rather than anything else.'
'Well,' said Anne, 'it is a comfort that if they like anything you
do, you are sure it is really very good. Their praise is worth more
than that of other people.'
Helen sighed, but made no reply, as by this time they had arrived at
the door of the room which she shared with Katherine. It was a
complete contrast to Elizabeth's; it was larger and lighter, and
looked out upon the bright garden, the alms-houses, and the church
tower. The upper part of the window was occupied by Katherine's
large cage of canary birds, and below was a stand of flower-pots, a
cactus which never dreamt of blossoming, an ice-plant, and a columnia
belonging to Katherine, a nourishing daphne of Helen's, and a
verbena, and a few geranium cuttings which she had brought from
Dykelands, looking very miserable under cracked tumblers and stemless
wine-glasses.
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