"You will find but a small set of your kind of people here, Miss Lavillotte. There's the doctor's family, Mr. Dalton's, and one or two others. I'm just one of the working girls," and before Joyce could speak to protest she had turned away with a proud look, and hastened after her mother.
CHAPTER XII.
THE HOUSE-WARMING.
Joyce had never been used to rebuffs. Feeling like a child who has had its gift of sweeties flung back into its face she turned slowly to retrace her steps towards Madame Bonnivel, and even in the short circuit of the crowded rooms she more than once caught words of criticism and unfriendly comment. One man, who was gesticulating largely with his somewhat grimy hands, uttered these words while she slid and sidled through the unyielding group about him, almost like one trying to avoid a blow—
"Generous! Who says he's generous? Don't you fool yourselves. We'll have to pay for it somehow, you mark my words. Young Early's like his father, only 'cuter. He's going to work things up till he makes folks think this town's a little Eden and then, when more workers wants to come here because it's sort o' neat and pretty, he'll begin to squeeze us on the wages, and if we dare to kick he'll say coolly, 'Go, if you don't like it. There's plenty ready and waiting to take your place.' Oh, I know 'em, root and branch, and we ain't no more'n just a pack o' cards in their hands. They shuffle us, and deal us round where we can help 'em to rake in the most chips, and when they're done with us—pouf! away we go into the fire, for all they care."
Joyce, fairly stung, made a quick movement towards him, then, remembering herself drew back, while the man, turning at the minute, smiled and made way for her. She was only a pretty girl to him, and he had not Rachel's discerning eyes, to observe that she was out of her class here, and never for an instant imagined what his tirade had meant to her.
When Joyce reached the Madame she was trembling a little, and pressed herself against that lady's chair, longing for comfort. Yet, in reply to the Madame's greeting she answered with but one word. She was afraid to trust herself with more. The blind woman's keen instinct divined that something was amiss. She had been talking placidly with many, and had also heard all sorts of comments and conjectures, so could imagine the feelings of this warm-hearted girl who had been giving so freely, and who longed for some little expression of appreciation and gratitude in return. But fearing themselves surrounded she could not speak quite freely, so she clasped Joyce's trembling fingers warmly while she quoted with an arch, smiling face.
"Perhaps it was well to dissemble your love,
But why did you kick me down-stairs?"
Joyce had to laugh heartily amid her gloom, and felt better for the outburst.