“Where do you live?” asked Gertrude, abruptly.
“At The Wilberforce, where Lorraine lives.”
“How long have you lived there?”
“Only two days,” said Patty, smiling, “but I’m already beginning to feel quite at home there.”
“Where did you live before?”
“In Vernondale, New Jersey.”
“Oh,” said Gertrude, and then, as another girl came up to speak to her, the two walked away without a further word to Patty.
This was a little too much. Patty’s face grew crimson, and she turned to Lorraine with a look of angry surprise.
“I knew you wouldn’t like her,” said Lorraine in a dull, careless tone, “but you insisted on being introduced. She’s one of the Prigs, and the Priggiest one of them all. She won’t speak to a girl unless she lives on Fifth Avenue and keeps forty-’leven servants.”
“Well, I think she’s just as rude as she can be,” said Patty; “she isn’t half as nice as she looks.”