"Nonsense, King," cried Midge; "we're not conceited. Not nearly as much so as that girl across the way. You ought to see, Father, how she hopped up the walk! Like a scornful grasshopper!"
"Marjorie," said Mrs. Maynard, repressing a smile, "you must not criticise people so; especially those you don't know."
"Well, she did, Mother. She thinks because she came from New York,
Rockwell people are no good at all."
"How do you know that, Midge?" said her father, a little gravely.
"Oh, Midget is a reader of character," said King. "She only saw this girl's yellow hair, hanging down her back, and she knew all about her at once."
"She had a velvet coat," protested Marjorie, "and a short dress and long black legs—"
"You wouldn't want her to wear a train, would you?" put in Kitty.
"No, but her frock was awful short, and her hat was piled with feathers."
"That will do, Marjorie," said her father, very decidedly, now. "It isn't nice to run on like that about some one you've never met."
"But I'm just telling what I saw, Father."