Somehow Kathie rebelled at being placed in the same category. She took up her book and tried to study, but her heart was swelling with a sense of injustice. What had she done to these girls? She was not coarse, or vulgar, or mean.
"Plebeian and patrician," some one said with a laugh, as they dispersed at Mrs. Wilder's entrance.
Kathie heard of the plan through the course of the day. Some of the larger girls had proposed that they should give a little entertainment for the benefit of the wife and children of a Captain Duncan who had been killed in one of the recent battles. Mrs. Duncan was staying at Brookside, quite prostrated by her misfortunes.
Thirteen of the school-girls had been asked. Mrs. Coleman, Mrs. Duncan's warmest friend, had offered her parlor and dining-room. Sue Coleman was hand and glove with Belle Hadden.
Now and then Kathie glanced over to Mary Carson. Vulgarity was written in every line of her broad, freckled face. Something beside plainness,—snub nose, wiry brown hair, and the irregular teeth, which looked as if they were never brushed,—an air of self-sufficiency, as if she considered herself as good as the best. She was continually talking of what they had at home, and made the most absurd blunders, which Mrs. Wilder patiently corrected. The small satires of the other girls never pierced the armor of her complacency. "And they think me like her!" Kathie mused, with a sad, sore heart. "I suppose because our fortune came so suddenly; and yet mamma always was a lady. However, I must bear it patiently."
Uncle Robert, seeing her so grave, fancied that it was on account of Mr. Meredith; and he was so busy that for a few days they had no confidential talks.
It was very hard to feel so entirely alone. Even Emma Lauriston was at home sick with a sore throat.