"I wouldn't tell her neither," she said earnestly. "I'm not so bad as that. She ain't like us; and I wouldn't be the one to make her like my sort. I'd sooner learn to be like her—if I could."
"And of course you can," said Susan encouragingly. "I'd begin this minute, if I was you."
"Begin to be like Nancy! This minute!" Bess said, in a wondering tone, as if the idea were a new one.
"To be sure I would," said Susan.
Whatever Susan Dunn did or did not mean in a practical sense, Bess evidently had some distinct notions on the subject, for she sat more upright, gazed hard at Nancy, then walked to a small looking-glass hung over the mantel-shelf and surveyed herself. Susan and Nancy said nothing for a few seconds. On the dresser stood a basin full of water, and Bess' next move was to plunge her rough unshawled head into this water. It came out dripping; and she parted the flattened thick mass with her fingers, pushing it back on either side.
"How they'll jeer!" she burst out then.
"Who will?" asked Susan.
"They! When I'm seen like this."
"The girls that you've made your friends? But you'll have to leave them, and choose a better sort of friends," said Susan.
Bess walked back to her vacated seat.