Elfrida found
a bitter satisfaction in this simile, and elaborated it.
The book would be one to be commended for _jeunes filles_,
and her lips turned down mockingly in the shadow. She
fancied some well-meaning critic saying, "It should be
on every drawing-room table," and she almost laughed
outright. She thought of a number of other little things
that might be said, of the same nature and equally amusing.
Her anger flamed up again at the thought of how Janet
had concealed this ambition from her, had made her, in
a way, the victim of it. It was not fair--not fair! She
could have prepared herself against it; she might have
got _her_ book ready sooner, and its triumphant editions
might at least have come out side by side with Janet's.
She was just beginning to feel that they were neck and
neck, in a way, and now Janet had shot so far ahead, in
a night, in a paragraph. She could never, never catch
up! And from under her closed eyelids two hot tears
started and ran over her cold cheeks. It came upon her
suddenly that she was sick with jealousy, not envy, but
pure anger at being distanced, and she tried to attack
herself about it. With a strong effort she heaped opprobrium
and shame upon herself, denounced herself, tried to hate
herself.
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