“Well, whichever way it is, you two never seem to get along very well together. But who else is there?”
Betty hesitated a minute, then she said:
“I’d like to ask Martha Taylor.”
“Martha! Why, Betty, nobody likes Martha. And well—you know Martha, poor girl, has to count every penny, and—and she never seems quite at her ease—not that that’s anything against her, but she wouldn’t have pretty dresses and hats, and the people at Halstead House are often dressy and gay.”
“I know it; but if Martha doesn’t mind that, we needn’t. And, Dorothy, you don’t know Martha as well as I do. She never has any good times, and it’s that that makes her shy and awkward. Oh, do ask her to go with us, if only for my sake.”
“Betty, what a queer girl you are! I like Martha well enough, but I don’t believe she’ll go with us. I’ll ask her, though, as you’re so set upon it.”
“What’s this enthusiastic discussion all about?” asked Mrs. McGuire, pausing at the library door, as she was passing through the hall.
“Oh, Mother, come in!” cried Betty. “What do you think? Jeanette is quite ill and she can’t go with us to the house-party at Irene Halstead’s.”
“That is too bad; I’m very sorry. Shall you ask any one in her place, Dorothy?”
“That’s just what we’re talking about, Mrs. McGuire. Betty thinks it would be nice to ask Martha Taylor, but I don’t think she quite fits in.”