“I can’t,” said Beth. “I don’t go home for dinner. I bring my lunch.”
“It’s too bad. You’ll feel so embarrassed. Your hair ribbons are old ones, too. This is the first time I’ve worn mine. They cost fifty cents a yard.”
She talked for some minutes, at the end of which Beth knew how much every article she wore cost. They were interrupted by the appearance of two other classmates. Beth knew them only by name. Carrie Laire was slight, with dark hair and eyes. Sally Monroe was very fair. She was slender and wiry. Her hair was drawn loosely and hung in a thick braid down her back.
“I’m the chairman of the Program Committee,” began Sally. “Do you recite or write poetry? I want you to be on the program for two weeks from to-day. You can select your own work. You see, I cannot tell what each one does best.”
“I’ll write a story,” said Beth. “A fairy-tale; will that do?”
“It would be lovely. You’re a perfect dear to help me out.” She was writing Beth’s name in her note-book.
“Don’t you live in town?” asked Carrie Laire. Beth told her where she lived.
“Is Miss Wells your aunt?” was the next question. Beth had never thought of that.
“No, she isn’t,” she replied and was about to move away, but Carrie followed her. The question had made Beth uneasy. Adee was not her aunt. Why did she live with her then, and why did she not have a home with brothers and sisters like other girls?
“Is your father dead?” Carrie continued. “I suppose he must be, and your mother too, or you wouldn’t be living with some one who isn’t even your aunt.”