"I suppose you will," returned Bea petulantly, for the temper, though appeased, was still awake and alert. "You're quick enough to loan me what you don't want yourself, and to say for me to go in an old-fashioned dress, with the holes inked up, and no jewelry; when you want silk and laces, and all the jewelry; you are generous."
"Oh, well, you may have the—the things if she will loan them; don't get fussy," said Ernestine, not a trifle abashed. "Who do you suppose will be there?"
"Whoever she invites, I suppose," answered Bea, still ruffled.
"And I expect Dell will be dressed beautifully; oh, dear, how nice it would be to be rich," sighed Ernestine.
"I don't think it's fair for some girls to have so much, and others to have to scrimp and pinch, and then have nothing," cried Bea, exaggerating her woes, as is usual, when one is determined to think one's self the worst abused of all mortals. "I wonder if Olive is going, and how she will dress."
"Just like she always does, I suppose, in that old green, with a big white collar, and her hair pulled straight back, and as smooth as a door-knob, no ornaments, and look fierce enough to chew every body up. I do wonder what Olive is good for anyhow, she isn't any comfort to anybody," and, as Ernestine spoke, her eyes went slyly over to the glass, where her pretty attitude in Jean's chair, and the sunshine lying warm on her hair, were reflected.
Usually, Bea would have taken up her sister's cause, and uttered some conclusive defence, but now she felt abused, and didn't care much what was said of anybody, so after a moment, Ernestine went on—
"I wish I knew the 'German,' I'm going to ask Dell to teach me, she does it beautifully. I think it is so hateful in Olive not to dance, it spoils a set for us, so that we can never dance quadrilles ourselves."
"I suppose she has a right to do as she pleases," answered Bea, revelling in the questionable luxury of being as cross as she could. "I don't care whether mama lets us go or not, I haven't a thing to wear, and of course if I don't go, you can't."
"Oh, but she will, I'll fix you so pretty, that you'll blush to look at yourself, and you know Mrs. Richards said last summer, that you looked like an angel in white, and you may have quillings off my bolt of footing to put in your basque, and around the pleatings;" and, with these skilfully thrown in words, Ernestine ran off to look over her little collection of ribbons and laces, while Bea turned her eyes slowly to the glass, just as her pretty sister had done a moment before, only not with such an air of perfect satisfaction.