"You shouldn't be such a lazy person then," called a girl who was seated near Geoffrey. "Of course, the early birds get all the worms."
"I am sorry, Miss Joan, that you liken our good food to worms," said the boy, as, having passed the contents of all the dishes in review, he slid a couple of poached eggs and a few rashers of bacon on to his plate, and took his seat beside the girl who had called out the remark.
"I was speaking comparatively," she said in a condescending tone, as she tilted her nose in the air. "I have heard before that one should not speak comparatively to boys of your age, and now I know."
At that there arose a delighted shout of laughter, and Maud called across from the fireplace that little girls should not use words they could not understand. "You meant figuratively, my dear Joan," she said.
Joan, who looked about sixteen, tossed the long, fair pigtail in which she wore her hair over her shoulder and began readily enough to join in the laughter to which her mistake had just given rise. But all of a sudden her countenance changed, and appearing to fly into a violent passion she started up from her chair, and stamped her foot and cried out:—
"I won't be laughed at, I won't, I won't! I hate you all!"
And burying her face in her handkerchief, she raced across the room, and dashed full tilt into Margaret who was still hesitating unperceived in the doorway.
At that a sound like a little gasp went up from the others, and though the gasp was in some cases followed by a little giggle, to their credit be it said most of the young faces wore a look of concern that Margaret should have made her appearance just in time to hear her outburst of the night before mimicked for the general amusement. Would she get angry again, or would she burst out crying? From what they had seen of her the night before, she was quite as likely to do one as the other. But to the general surprise she did neither, and for the simple reason that she had failed to grasp the fact that Joan's grief was all a sham, and that it was she herself who was being made game of. Joan, after one swift glimpse to see against whom it was she had so violently cannoned, turned away, and dropping her face in her handkerchief, again appeared to cry violently. Margaret felt quite sorry for her, and forgetting all her shyness tried to comfort her.
"I know how unpleasant it is to be laughed at," she whispered in her ear; "but if you pretend not to mind and laugh back you will not mind it so much."
But Margaret's sympathy, far from making Joan ashamed of herself, amused her immensely, and keeping her face turned away from Margaret, she looked up out of her handkerchief and winked at the others and giggled. But when she found that no one else was laughing, her own giggles died away, and she began to sidle uncomfortably towards her chair.