Henrietta danced very well indeed. She had had several terms of dancing lessons and was, besides, naturally graceful. As a partner, Henrietta was in great demand. In the early months of the school year, all five of the Lakeville girls had been fairly popular, but now, since soon after the Christmas holidays, something was wrong. Except for the girls from her own town, no one but Sallie, Maude Wilder and Jane Pool asked Marjory to dance. Little Lillian Thwaite had even gone so far as to refuse Marjory’s invitations.
“I’m engaged for all the dances,” fibbed Lillian, glibly.
Marjory might have believed her if she had not later heard Lillian asking Gladys for the next two-step. For some reason Marjory was becoming more and more unpopular and the little girl was quite troubled about it. Any little girl would have been.
Gladys danced almost as well as Henrietta did; but Henrietta was the pleasanter dancer to look at. She carried herself prettily, her clothes seemed always just exactly right and Henrietta herself, with her sparkling eyes, her vivid coloring, her dark, becoming curls, was always an attractive sight. Gladys was invariably overdressed for these occasions. Her hair was over-done and her complexion entirely unnatural. She arched her back in an artificial way, crooked her elbows at curious angles and managed to stick her left little finger out in a most peculiar and quite ridiculous manner. Added to this, she invariably chewed gum quite as industriously as she danced.
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” commented Mrs. Henry Rhodes, viewing this spectacle with amusement, “if Gladys chewed in time to the music; but she doesn’t.”
Even the frozen countenance of the older Mrs. Rhodes thawed into something like a smile when Gladys danced and chewed. Still, apparently many of the girls liked to dance with Gladys; but those who did held aloof from the four Lakeville girls and more particularly from Marjory and Mabel.
“I know what I think,” said Marjory, confiding in Mabel one evening when they were the only girls who had not been asked by some one else to waltz. “Laura Milligan has been saying things about us again, and more and more of the girls are believing what she says. It gets a little worse every dancing night. It’s terrible to be unpopular.”
“I know it,” agreed Mabel. “The only friends we have in this school now are the girls that won’t associate with Laura. Maude just hates her and so does Sallie. Jane Pool does, too. And I don’t think Victoria Webster likes her any too well, even if she does room with her.”
“The Seniors make fun of her,” said Marjory; “I’ve seen them do it. Miss Wilson imitates the way she chews gum and Miss Pratt sticks her little finger out the way Laura does. If Augusta wasn’t just a silly goose herself she’d never waste a minute on Laura. And the Miller girls and Isabelle haven’t as many brains in their three heads as little Jane Pool has in her one—I heard Miss Woodruff tell them that in school yesterday. And Grace Allen hasn’t any mind of her own at all. She just thinks what Laura wants her to think, and then passes it on.”
“The friends we have are nice girls,” returned Mabel. “Maude, Cora, Sallie and the others. Just the same it makes me just mad to be snubbed and cold shouldered and left out by anybody.”