"Oh, come, Ada, that is going too far," protested some of the girls, shocked at the rude words and the cool deliberate manner in which they were said; but their insolent school-fellow silenced them with an impatient gesture, as she surveyed the flushed face of her victim and awaited a reply.
Nellie felt both hurt and indignant. She had grown up in her quiet, country home, totally ignorant of the arrogancy and pride so much abroad in the busy world; and coming to school with the expectancy of finding pleasant companions and friends, the words struck home to her heart with a chill.
"How unkind you are!" she murmured, struggling to suppress the angry tears; "you have no right to speak so to me. My aunts are not rich, it is true, and cannot afford to dress so extravagantly as many; but that does not prevent them from being perfect gentlewomen, does it? Your own mother cannot be a more thorough lady than my Aunt Judith, I am sure."
"Is that so?" said Ada with mocking sarcasm, and the contempt in her voice was indescribable. "What presumption! the lower classes are beginning to look up, sure enough."
"Shame!" cried some of the girls standing near; "you are cruel, Ada." But at that moment a slim hand touched Nellie's arm, and a merry voice said soothingly, "Never mind her, Nellie; we all know she is not responsible for her statements at times. Her brain is a little defective on one point," and Winnie's great eyes shot a mischievous glance at Miss Irvine's haughty face.
"May I ask the reason of your special interference just now?" inquired Ada, an angry flush deepening the rose-tint on her cheek; "possibly you wish yesterday's scene to be repeated over again."
"Oh dear, no," answered Winnie brightly, "home-truths seldom need repetition; they are not so easily forgotten. But Nellie is my friend, and I intend to fight her battles as well as my own. Please understand that once for all, and remember at the same time with what metal you have to deal.—Come, Nellie, I am free at last," and the spirited little creature led her weeping school-mate from the room.
"Didn't I warn you not to expect plain sailing?" she continued with a knowing look; "and Ada Irvine is a perfect hurricane. She will swoop down on you at every opportunity, and bluster and blow; but let her alone and never mind."
"I wish I had never left home," replied Nellie, dashing her hand across her eyes and winking away the tear-drops vigorously. "How can girls say such dreadful things? I can't bear them;" and a fresh burst of grief followed.
"Phew!" cried Winnie, giving her an energetic shake, and knitting her brow in a childish frown, "that's babyish. You'll strike on every rock and bend before each gale if you talk in such a fashion. Don't be a fool, Nellie; pluck up some spirit, and show Ada Irvine you're above her contempt." Winnie spoke as if possessed with all the wisdom of the ancients, and gave due emphasis to every word. "She and I are always at what Dick calls 'loggerheads,' and I enjoy an occasional passage of arms amazingly; only, sometimes I come off second on the field, and that is not so pleasant. Now," with a pretty coaxing air, "dry your tears; the hour is almost up, and the bell will be ringing shortly. I hate to see people crying, I do indeed, so please stop;" and Winnie eyed the tear-stained countenance of her friend with mingled sympathy and impatience.