The speaker was Beatrice Gale, a neighbour of the Farnsworths. She was pretty and saucy looking,—a graceful sprite, with a dimpled chin, and soft brown hair, worn in moppy bunches over her ears. She was called Betty by her friends, and Patty and Bill had already acquired that privilege.
"Now, Betty," and Patty shook her head at her, "you are a college graduate as well as a débutante,—you must know old Ike!"
"But I don't! You see, my début meant so much more to me than my commencement, that all I ever learned at college flew out of my head to make room for all I'm going to learn in society."
"Have you much left to learn?" asked Elise, looking at the piquant face that seemed to show its owner decidedly conversant with the ways of the world,—at least, her own part in it.
"Oh, indeed, yes! I only know how to smile and dance. I'm going to learn flirting, coquetry and getting engaged!"
"You're ambitious, little one," remarked Van Reypen. "Have you chosen your instructors?"
"I'm sure you won't need any," put in Elise, who was already jealous of Philip's interested looks at the new girl. "I think you could pass an efficiency examination already!"
"You ought to know," said Betty, with such an innocent and demure look at Elise, that it was difficult to determine whether she meant to be impertinent or not.
"Let me conduct the examination," said Philip; "shall it be public,—or will you go with me into a—a classroom?" and he looked toward the small "den" that opened from the library.
"Oh, have it public!" exclaimed Mona. "Let us all hear it"