There was a bright red spot in Florence's cheeks.
"Mrs. Van Wyck," Florence began in a quiet, ladylike manner, although she felt inclined to be angry, "grandmother is right: I should not like it. I have no taste for housework; and I can earn more than you offer to give by doing embroidering and crocheting. Through the six weeks of vacation I earned sixteen dollars."
"Fancy work! What is the world coming to? Children brought up to despise good, honest employment."
"No, I don't despise it," amended Florence; "but I do not like it, and I think it a hard way of earning a little money. If I can do better, of course I have the right."
Granny was amazed at the spirit Florence displayed.
"You'll all be paupers on the town yet, mark my words. Flaunting round in white dresses and ribbons, and"—
She glanced around for some further vanity to include in her inventory.
"I am sure we are obliged to you," said Granny mildly. "But Florence"—
"Yes, Florence is too good to work. There's no sense in such high-flown names. I'd have called her plain Peggy. She must curl her hair, and dress herself—oh my lady, if I had you, you'd see!"