“The number I planned to invite. Twelve, it is.”
“But couldn’t you add two more? Bernice, and another boy to make it even?”
“I suppose I could, but,—you know, Dolly, nobody likes Bernice. She’s—”
“Oh, don’t tell me what she is! I know it! But, Grace, I think it’s mean, the way we girls treat her. Now, never mind what she is, won’t you ask her, just for my sake?”
Dolly’s smile was very winning and her blue eyes very pleading and Grace was about to consent, when Ethel came in. They told her the subject under discussion.
“Not much!” declared Ethel. “If that thing goes, I don’t!”
“All right,” Dolly blazed back, “if she doesn’t go, I don’t!”
Probably neither girl meant what she said, but having said it, they both stuck to it. So spirited the argument became, that Mrs. Rawlins overheard the angry voices and came into the room.
“What is the matter, girlies? Why, Dolly Fayre, what are you crying about?”
“I’m not crying, Mrs. Rawlins,” and Dolly brushed a tear or two off her cheeks, “b-but I’m afraid,—maybe I m-might. I guess I’ll go home now.”