So Beth thought that perhaps Cynthia’s unfortunate resemblance to the heiress of the Freylinghausen millions was rather a drawback. Maude evidently did her best, on every occasion, to be unpleasant to this particular waitress.
One evening at supper she called across the table to Beth and Molly, who sat side by side:
“Say! one of you see if you can wake up that dummy behind you and get some butter passed this way. It’s a shame how inattentive that girl is!”
“Whom are you speaking of?” demanded Molly, coolly.
“Oh, I forgot! She is a friend of a friend of yours, Miss Granger,” rejoined Maude, sneeringly. “I mean that big-footed dummy standing there—in a fog, of course, as usual.”
Laura Hedden and one or two other “Me toos” giggled. Beth could not see Cynthia, but her own face flushed. Maude looked scornfully across the table, taking in all three of the girls she disliked in this glance.
“I believe you are the very meanest girl who ever walked on sole-leather!” exclaimed Molly, but quite low, so that none of the teachers would hear. “If I were Cynthia I’d box your ears.”
“I’d like to see her try it!” cried Maude, her pale face turning red, as it did in a very ugly fashion whenever she was angry. “I’d teach her her place——”
“Are you sure, Miss Grimshaw, that you can teach me anything?” Cynthia’s low, cultivated voice broke in, and she laughed, as though the rich girl’s spitefulness only amused her.
“How dare you speak to me?” demanded Maude, starting up. “I’ll report you for this.”