“There, take that, and I wish it was ’Rie’s. Now you stop here, and do my hair directly. Hateful little beast! why didn’t you come before?”
The blood flushed up in Ruth’s face, and little troubled lines made their appearance in her forehead as, after a piteous glance at the other sister, she began to brush the great flowing bands of dark hair waiting their turn.
“I don’t care,” said Marie, with all the aggravating petulance of a child. “Mine was just done.”
“But I’ve got the book,” retorted the other. “Be careful, little beast; don’t pull it out by the roots.”
She turned her face up sharply to the busy toiler, with the effect that she dragged her own hair, and this time she struck the girl so sharply on the cheek with the open hand that the tears started to her eyes.
“Nasty, spiteful, malicious wretch!” said Marie, giving the finishing touches to her own hair; “but you’ll have a good lecture for breaking the glass. Aunties will be angry.”
“I shall say Ruth did it,” said the girl.
“Just like you, Clo,” retorted the other.
“If you call me Clo again, I’ll—I’ll poison you.”
“Shall if I like: Clo, old Clo—Jew—Jew—Jew! There!”