Rosalie said she did not.
“She’s a Red Indian.”
“Is she?” said Rosalie, much surprised, for the girl did not look in the least like a Red Indian.
“Ask her,” said the sharp girl. “Do you know what I am?”
Rosalie shook her head.
“Answer,” said the sharp girl.
“No, I don’t,” said Rosalie.
“I’m a Sultan,” said the sharp girl. “All the nice girls are Sultans and the school belongs to them. Do I look nice?”
“Very,” said Rosalie, though she did not think so.
“Then why didn’t you know I was a Sultan? The school belongs to the Sultans. The One Onlys and the Red Indians are interlopers, especially the One Onlys. Always shudder when you see a Sultan. Shudder now.”