“You’ll have company,” snapped Bessie Lavine. “I’m sure I’m not going,” and she said it with such a significant look at Polly Jarley, who had come ashore, that the boatman’s daughter, as well as the other girls, could not fail to understand why she made the declaration.
“Why, Bess Lavine!” exclaimed Frankie, the outspoken.
Polly’s face had flushed deeply, then paled. Bess had avoided her before; but now she had come out openly with her animosity.
“Is your name Miss Lavine?” asked the boatman’s daughter, her voice quivering with emotion.
“What if it is?” snapped Bess.
“Then I guess I know why you speak to me so—”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Miss! I don’t care to speak to you,” said Bess.
“Nor do I care to have anything to do with you,” said Polly, plucking up a little spirit herself under this provocation. “You are Henry Lavine’s daughter. I am not surprised at your speech and actions. He has done all he could to hurt my father’s reputation for years–and you seem to be just like him.”
“Hurt your father’s reputation–Bosh!” cried Bess. “You can’t spoil a—”
But here Wyn Mallory came to the rescue.