"No," she said crossly. "Nothing's the matter, only I got the blues."
"The blues!" repeated Nance, incredulously. "What for?"
"Oh, everything. I wish I was dead."
"Birdie Smelts, what's happened to you?" demanded Nance in alarm, sitting by her on the bed and trying to put her arm around her.
"Whoever said anything had happened?" asked the older girl, pushing her away. "Stop asking fool questions and get dressed. We'll be late as it is."
For some time they went about their preparations in silence; then Nance, partly to relieve the tension, and partly because the matter was of vital interest, asked:
"Do you reckon Mr. Mac and Mr. Monte will come again to-night?"
"You can't tell," said Birdie. "What do they care about engagements? We are nothing but dirt to them—just dirt under their old patent-leather pumps!"
This bitterness on Birdie's part was so different from her customary superiority where men were concerned, that Nance gasped.
"If they do come," continued Birdie vindictively, "you just watch me teach Mac Clarke a thing or two. He needn't think because his folks happen to be swells, he can treat me any old way. I'll make it hot for him if he don't look out, you see if I don't."