"I thought not," said Mary Jane.
"Now what made you think that?" asked Hal's friend with real curiosity.
"'Cause you talk to me like I was a real grown-up lady," explained Mary Jane. "When they've got a little sister like me they just bow when Uncle Hal brings 'em up and they say 'what grade are you in in school?' and then before I can answer they start talking to somebody else. But when they haven't any little sister, they talk to me like I was a real grown-up lady—well, anyway, as though I was as big as Alice."
"That's funny," laughed Mr. Echart, "what would you say if I asked you to dance with me—like a real lady?"
"I'd say thank you, yes I will," replied Mary Jane demurely, and much to her partner's surprise she danced off every bit as well as he could.
Now usually Mary Jane loved to dance; she and Alice often danced together and both enjoyed it and did it well. And to-day should have been perfect for the music was good and the floors excellent. But they hadn't taken a dozen steps before sharp twinges of pain shot through her left heel and she felt as though she couldn't stand it another minute.
"Tired?" asked Mr. Echart, as he noticed that something was wrong. "Anything you'd rather do than dance?"
"Yes," replied Mary Jane with a sudden burst of feeling, "I'd rather take off my shoe! Do they have any place where folks take off their shoes on Class Day?"
"Well," said her partner, "I can't say that they prepare for it as a regular part of the program, but it might be done."
"Then let's do it right away," said Mary Jane miserably.