"What a loss it must be to you!" cried Jo softly. "Of course, the money value is of little consideration. It is the memories which cling to it which make it precious. I know how you feel about such matters. You have so much sentiment. I know what trifles may mean to one. I always wear this little chain. I have worn it since I was three years old. I never could bear to part with it. It seems a tie to bind me to my childhood. I feel as though I could never grow old while I wear it. I shall never take it off."
Renee shrugged her shoulders. "I'm glad you don't have the same sentiment toward your collars. What a beautiful sentiment you might conjure up about a waist which some dear departed chum had embroidered for you; or perhaps she buttoned it up the back the first time you wore it and died immediately afterward. I really think the last would be most touching. Then you would feel that you could never unbutton the buttons which her dear hands had buttoned."
The irony in Renee's voice was strong. While she had been speaking, she arose and moved toward the door.
Hester's face had flushed. She feared that Josephine would be angry. Erma, however, laughed merrily, and smiled and fluttered about like a gay butterfly. She thought Renee's sarcasm was the finest wit in the world. If it had been directed toward herself, she would not have cared at all, and could conceive of no reason why Jo should be hurt.
Josephine raised her brows languidly and smiled sweetly. "Renee laughs at sentiment," she said. "What is it that Shakespeare says about jesting at scars because you never felt a wound?"
"If I ever do show wounds," cried Renee, "they will not be ones made by a tin soldier with a toy pistol. It will take a cannon ball to make me know that I've been touched."
She sailed out of the room, her head high and her heels coming down with some show of feeling. Erma burst into a fresh peal of laughter.
"Isn't Renee dear and doesn't she say the most brilliant things? I often wished I could be witty. All I can do is to laugh at the jokes which other girls make."
"Why wish to be witty?" asked Josephine. "You're so sweet and womanly and tender."
"Am I all that?" cried Erma and she laughed again. "I must go and tell Mame. She has known me for years and has never suspected that I am all that."