Lisa looked at her. “You aren’t a bit enthusiastic.”
“I was so glad to see Mrs. Dixon,” returned Persis, with an increase of animation. “We had a lovely time at her house.”
“Mrs. Dixon? Oh, yes; of course, we all love to be with her. Did you go to her house?”
“I spent Saturday and Sunday there; so did Connie.”
“You did?” And Lisa looked curiously at her sister. “Perse, you’re hedging. Tell me straight out about the Steuarts.”
And Persis, too frank to conceal anything, told all.
“Then I was right,” declared Lisa, triumphantly. “You’ll believe me next time. I ought to know better, being older than you.”
“Well, I don’t care; Connie is a nice girl, and I am going to stand by her.”
“Of course,” rejoined Lisa, with her chin in the air.
Persis lost no time in relating her experiences to her mother, who listened thoughtfully. “Dear child,” she said. “I am so glad you had the penetration to see just what was wrong, and to shrink from joining in the actions you felt were not right. We withdraw ourselves from certain acquaintances because they are underbred, not because they are poor.”