Brenda, Her School and Her Club

What do suppose she'll be like?
How can I tell?
Well, Brenda Barlow, I should think you'd have some idea—your own cousin.
Oh, that doesn't make any difference. I've hardly thought about her.
But aren't you just a little curious? continued the questioner, a pretty girl with dark hair.
No, Nora, I'm not. She's sixteen and a half—almost a year older than we are. She's never lived in a big city, and that's enough.
Oh, a country girl?
I don't know that she's a country girl exactly, but I just wish she wasn't coming. She'll spoil all our fun.
How? asked a third girl, seated on the bottom step.
Why, who ever heard of five girls going about together? If three's a crowd, five's a perfect regiment. I agree with Brenda that it's too bad to have her come. Now when there's four of us we can pair off and have a good time.
The last speaker had a long thin face with a determined mouth and large china blue eyes. She was the only one of the four whom the average observer would not call pretty. Yet in her little circle she had her own way more often even than Brenda, who was not only somewhat of a tyrant, but a beauty as well.