But the girl’s attitude was friendly toward her, if rather hostile toward the others, and lonely little Betty yearned for friendliness.
“Well, you see, they all know each other,” she said, smiling at the black-eyed one; “that makes such a difference, and they’ve so much to tell.”
“All right; let us know each other, then. My name’s Madeleine Gorman; what’s yours?”
“Betty McGuire,” said Betty, smiling into the friendly eyes.
“Betty! My, you are new! You must call yourself Elizabeth up here. Nicknames don’t go.”
“Well, I’d just as lief be called Elizabeth; I don’t mind. But I’m Betty at home.”
“Yes; I’m Maddy at home, and Mad, and Mother calls me Lina. But I’m sure Madeleine’s the ticket in a fashionable boarding-school.”
“Then you’ve been here before?”
“No, not here. But to three other grand schools. Mother’s always changing about when she hears of a more ‘select’ one.”
Betty was a bit bewildered. Surely the ambitions of Madeleine’s mother were in line with those of Mrs. Irving, and yet Betty couldn’t imagine her grandmother talking like that! She felt sure the Irvings were “select,” but she felt equally sure they would never proclaim it in words.