All the afternoon she had been alone in the garden, forbidden to have playmates, because her grandmother was giving a bridge-party in the house, and mustn’t be disturbed with the shouts of children, and now she was really dying for some one to talk to.
“My grandmother’s having a party,” she told Jacqueline, by way of resuming cordial relations.
“I won’t stop her,” Jacqueline answered rudely.
“I had a party yesterday.” Eleanor turned to her eagerly. “I was ten years old. I don’t suppose you ever had a party.”
“Don’t get fresh,” cautioned Jacqueline. “I’ve had more parties than ever you’ve had. I’ve had dozens of them.”
Perhaps the party hadn’t improved Eleanor’s temper. The day after, as we all know, is apt to be trying. At any rate she looked at Jacqueline’s shabby clothes, and was so snobbish and ill-mannered as to sneer.
“Dozens of parties? I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to,” snapped Jacqueline. “And I don’t have to believe you had a party yesterday, and I don’t, so there!”
“I did, too,” said Eleanor. “And I had lots of presents. I guess you’d believe me, if you saw them.”
“If I saw ’em, maybe,” Jacqueline tantalized. She didn’t know why she should pause at that moment to tease Eleanor, but there was something about Eleanor’s pink and white complacency that rubbed her the wrong way.