“Mercy, no! I can get there after skipping through so many to get to the dining car on the way to New York. Your daughter considers herself quite a traveler by this time.”
So Betty, rather dreading the coming interview, departed to be pleasantly surprised. She had no trouble in finding her new acquaintances and discovered that they were really quite interested in finding out all Betty could tell them about school.
“I am going to hate it,” said Lucia, who spoke with a decided Italian accent, but used many Americanisms, probably caught from her mother. “But just the same, if I have to, I have to; and will you help me when I come out to the school the first time?”
“Certainly I will. But are you sure that you will come to Lyon High?”
“Oh, that can be arranged,” carelessly returned Lucia, who was used to having things “arranged” for her. “I’ve heard so much about that high school and if I have to go, I want to go there. There were some American girls in my school in Lausanne, so I know a little bit about how they do. Do you like it?”
“Very much. I’d love to hear you tell about the school in Switzerland, though.”
Lucia was in a favorable mood. For the next hour she and Betty talked, while Betty heard about life in foreign countries and what Lucia had studied in her different schools there. She was advanced in some lines, Betty found, behind in others, but Betty told her that it all sounded as if she would be a sophomore. “Will you use any title?” Betty rather timidly asked, for she thought that if Lucia was a “countess or something” herself, it would not go so well in school.
Countess Coletti heard the question and replied herself. “Lucia is going to try democracy, Betty Lee. She will be called Lucia Coletti or Miss Coletti everywhere. I want her to have a little American training. To be sure, I was taught in private schools myself, and Lucia may in time return to them. But not until she has done some good work in high school.”
What was back of Countess Coletti’s determined tones Betty did not know. But there was some strong feeling there; that was certain.
Lucia did not speak of her father, but when Betty said that it was all fascinating to hear about and asked her where her real home had been, Lucia after a slight hesitation, waxed almost enthusiastic over an Italian villa where she “loved to live” best. Every now and then Lucia would use an Italian expression, which Betty thought very impressive, though she could not help thinking of some less fortunate Italian girls in school and she wondered how Lucia would treat them, in case she were thrown into classes with them.