"If," said Meg, trembling with energy, looking round on her persecutors, "to be a born lady makes one laugh at another because she's badly dressed, and to mock her because she's not got fine manners, then to be a born lady is to be vulgar and cruel—that's what I think."
For a moment there was silence; then the stupid-looking girl, coming close to Meg and thrusting her face near hers, said in a jeering drawl:
"I saw you and your mother selling matches in Bond Street last Easter holidays. Your mother had a red handkerchief round her head and a monkey under her arm."
"That is a falsehood!" said Meg. Up flashed the little brown hand and came down with a slap on the dull, mocking face.
There was a hubbub.
Cries of "She's a savage!" "A gypsy!"
"We will tell Miss Reeves," was vociferated on all sides.
Above the tumult rose the voice of Ursula:
"You deserved that slap, Laura Harris. Miss Beecham had told us her mother was dead. She has been teased too much."