“Well, it was not lady-like. Now if you are to be my cousin, you must let me talk to you like a cousin. It seems to me that was saucy.”
“Now you are scolding me, too. It seems to me that people like to scold me.”
“Oh, no, Zula, I am not scolding you, and you must not blame the lady for her thoughts, for, really, you do look like a gypsy.”
Zula drew herself up proudly.
“Well,” she said. “I can’t help it, and I don’t care to be told of it.”
“It’s no disgrace. I have seen many a pretty gypsy girl. There was one who belonged to a tribe that camped just a little way out of the village, last summer, and she certainly was a beauty, only she was so dark.”
“Well, I don’t want people to think I am one.”
“What are you doing, drawing?” Guy asked, as he discovered her pencil and book.
She covered the paper with her hand.