Still there was no word or sign from Freida. "She certainly isn't very appreciative," thought Marjorie; "but maybe she's homesick."
"Would you like to try on your new things?" asked Miss Phillips.
With a shrug of the utmost indifference, Frieda replied,
"I don't care!"
"You're not a bit homesick, are you, Frieda?" asked Frances, more, it would seem, as if to make conversation, than because she really thought there was any likelihood of this contingency.
The girl regarded her questioner scornfully.
"For them folks?" she asked sarcastically. "I don't want to see them no more!"
Frances sighed—and surrendered. Ever since she and her Captain had met the country girl, she had tried to be friendly and sympathetic; in every instance Frieda had repulsed her in this rude manner. At first Frances had felt hurt; with a great deal of effort she had kept back the tears that the sharp replies would bring dangerously near to the surface. Then, too, the girl had been so outrageously ungrateful; she had almost made a scene in a store where Miss Phillips tried to buy a ten-dollar dress, and had declared that she would never wear it! Finally, they had compromised on a dark skirt and two middy blouses; but Frieda took no pains to hide her resentment at the cheapness of the clothing. Many of her remarks had been absolutely insulting; and now Frances was utterly disgusted with her, and wished that Pansy troop had taken Ruth Henry's advice, and let Frieda Hammer stay where she was till the end of her days.
Just at that moment Mrs. Johnson appeared with a great, warm smile of welcome on her motherly face. Surely, Frances thought, this would have melted the hardest heart. She and Miss Phillips both rose at her entrance; but Frieda sat perfectly still, and gave no indication that she was aware of the other's presence.
"Stand up, Frieda," commanded Miss Phillips, pleasantly, and the girl shuffled to her feet, still keeping her eyes fixed on the piano.