"I'll sew the button on, Ann," said Christine, taking it from her,
and looking up seriously, but with a compressed expression about her
face. Her cheeks burned; there was a reproof in her steady gaze,
before which Ann's scornful smile vanished. "No, Christine, I will
wait on myself," she answered in a rigid tone.
"Very well," and Christine turned to the window again. She had not
quailed before her sister's look, but its bitter contempt rankled in
her heart, and poisoned the current of her thoughts. Not a word was
spoken, when Ann with her bonnet on, left their apartment. The front
door closed; Christine listened to the sound of her sister's voice
in the street a moment, then rose from her chair, and threw herself
upon the bed, sobbing violently.
"Oh! why has God made me as I am?" she murmured. "No one loves me.
They do not know me; they know how bad I am--but, oh! they never
dream how often I weep, and pray for the affection that is denied
me. How Ann is caressed by everybody, and how indifferently am I
greeted! There is no one in the wide world who takes a deep interest
in me. I am only secondary with father and mother; they are so proud
of Ann's beauty and talent, they do not think to see whether I am
possessed of talent or not.
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