"I think there can be no question about my tastes or sympathies," she said, rather haughtily. "Refinement, truth, and honor make my nobility."
"Refinement is absolutely necessary to me," remarked Belle, with an elegant air. "Sometimes I am teased about it, but all kinds of coarseness and vulgarity are odious to me, whether it is in dress or behavior. And loud voices or loud manners are equally my detestation."
Emma did not dissent. One or two thoughts of her own took up her attention, and the rest of the talk seemed to float around her like the waves of a distant sea.
Kathie remarked the change very quickly, for she was keenly sensitive. That Lottie should be vexed with her she did not so much wonder at, but why should the other girls shun her? She certainly had done nothing to them. And it gave her a pang to see some small circle fall apart when she joined it, each girl giving knowing glances to the others. Then, too, she was left out of the plays and talks, and though they did nothing absolutely rude, she seemed to understand that there was a kind of social ostracism, and she was being pushed over to the side she did not admire,—to the half-dozen rather coarse girls.
Belle was not slow in spreading abroad the report. The Alstons were mushroom aristocracy. Nobody knew how the uncle had made his fortune. People did everything in Australia,—robbed, cheated, even murdered. And Mrs. Alston had actually sewed for a living!
Yet it must be confessed that these very girls fairly envied her the pony phaeton and the elegant house.
"Uncle Robert is coming home," said her mother, one afternoon. "We have received a good long letter from him, and some news that will surprise you."
Kathie's face was aglow with interest.
"You may read it all yourself. He had not time to write any more than one letter."