"I've got the last things," she said with a laugh, tinged with an uneasiness that no one noticed, and unwrapping a small parcel.
"What?" asked Bea, glancing up with interest; then looked at the open paper, and did not say another word.
Kittie and Kat did likewise, and in a moment Ernestine broke the silence with an impatient laugh.
"Well, what do you all look so horrified at? It was my own money, I guess, and precious little at that."
"What did you pay for them?" asked Bea gravely.
"These—" Ernestine held up a pair of snowy kids, with three buttons—"I got for a dollar and a half, cheap, because one finger is a little soiled. This—" lifting a creamy tip, with pale blue shading—"was two dollars. Won't it look lovely in my black hat?"
"Yes, it will look lovely," said Bea slowly; she was really too astonished and hurt to say any more; but Kat cried out explosively:
"Oh Ernestine Dering! you selfish, selfish, old—pig, you—" "Know mama wants shoes," interrupted Kittie, with her voice full of indignant tears. "And you heard her say the last time she was home, that she did not want to spend the money for them, and here you spend three dollars and a half for—"
"Things that I want," finished Ernestine, getting up and pushing her chair away. "I've worked hard, and I think I might spend a very little bit of my own money. You all don't seem to think so, and you're not very pleasant, so I'll just leave you until you are in a better humor."
With that she went out, feeling really as though she were more aggrieved than aggressor, and stillness followed her departure.