Genevieve ignored her. “Good-bye, Phœbe,” she said, from the door. “I don’t believe us Simpson girls will see you again at school.”
“I’m dead sure you won’t!” cried Sophie, and slammed the door in Genevieve’s face.
Phœbe sighed. “Now, she’ll make Miss Simpson hate me,” she said sadly. “And so will all the girls, and they won’t take me back——”
“Take you back!” raged Sophie. “After they sent you packin’ home that time? Where’s your pride? If it was me, I just wouldn’t go back. And your uncles and your paw won’t let y’ when they hear what I tell ’em!—Phœbe, you show Miss Simpson that you don’t want her old school. You turn her down—first!”
Phœbe rallied herself. She realized that Sophie was speaking the truth. The quarrel with Genevieve—and especially what Genevieve had just said (Phœbe was aware of an inference there), made her see that the last bridge was burned between her and the Simpson School. So she might as well show indifference to the visiting Principal, whose voice, even now, could be heard from the direction of the sitting-room.
“All right, Sophie,” she whispered bravely. “Don’t you worry.”
She caught up “Kenilworth” once more, tucked herself into a corner of the big couch, rested her head in a scholarly pose upon one hand, and lost herself between the pages of Sir Walter Scott.
CHAPTER XIX
“Darling Phœbe,” gushed Miss Simpson, “how do you do!”
“How do you do,” responded Phœbe, rising politely.