“Walter Mason!” exclaimed Linda, hopping out of the old ’bus. “Is that who was driving that car?”
“Yes. That was Walter. And Walter is as big a dunce as his sister,” declared Cora, crossly. “He went right by you and brought up these two girls.”
Linda’s face was very much flushed. That she had overreached herself in this matter, taught the obstinate girl nothing. She had deliberately misinformed the ’bus driver, when she told him there were no other girls on the train, and had hurried him away from the station.
So she had overlooked Walter Mason and his car, and the boy had not seen her. Her scowl as she looked upon the now calm Nan and the almost petrified Bess, did not improve Linda’s personal appearance.
“Oh! I am not surprised at anything those two do,” scoffed the rich girl, loftily.
“Hullo!” exclaimed Cora. “They don’t seem to have done anything except to get a free ride.”
“Indeed, that is just it!” cried Linda, with a toss of her head. “Anything free is just what they are looking for. One of them let me pay for her lunch on the train. And the other——”
“Girls!”
The voice, very mellow and sweet (it reminded Nan Sherwood of her mother’s own in its soft cadence) seemed to quell all harsher sounds instantly—the sharp voice of Linda, even the querulous notes of the katydids in the grove before the Hall, and the strident tones of the crickets.
“Girls!”