Phœbe flung “Kenilworth” down. “Oh, but he wouldn’t!” she cried. “No! I don’t want to lose him!”
Sophie was at her side in an instant. “Darlin’, don’t you believe it! He loves you, and just nobody else.” Then marching up to Genevieve, angrily, with hands on hips, “Say! What did you come here today for, anyhow?”
Genevieve lifted her shoulders with disdain. “Mamma says,” she returned calmly, “that you can tell whether people are nice or not by their servants.”
“Y’ can!” taunted Sophie. “Well, ‘Mammaw’ sure oughta know. Because Bridget Finnegan was oncet a servant.”
Genevieve’s face darkened. Her neck appeared to swell. “Well, I can tell you this much,” she answered hotly. “There are some things my mother wasn’t. People have never said that she——”
“Here!” stormed Sophie. She caught Genevieve by a shoulder.
“Sophie!” gasped Phœbe, appalled.
But Sophie did not hear. “Now, you run along,” she ordered, showing Genevieve toward the door. “Do y’ understand?”
Genevieve went haughtily. “I wouldn’t stay for anything,” she declared. “I’ll wait for Miss Simpson in my motor.”
“When y’ got your motor,” sneered Sophie, “what a pity y’ didn’t get some manners!”