“What right have you to speak to me in such a tone?” raged Jean. “You have nothing to say as to what I shall or shall not do. I won’t pretend I don’t know what you mean. I do know. I don’t in the least care what you think about it, either. My clothes are mine to do with just whatever I please. If Miss Harlowe imagines I am going to be a servant to half the girls at Overton for the sake of earning my fees she is mistaken. Why should she or any one else object to my selling my things, if I like? I don’t see how you found it out. The girls promised to keep the whole affair to themselves. I don’t understand why you should be so concerned, or what it has to do with Miss Harlowe’s opinion of you. From what you say I might almost assume that there had been a time when you were not to be trusted.”
Evelyn’s beautiful face was crimson with anger and humiliation. She longed to answer Jean’s arraignment with a flood of words as bitter as her own, but her determined effort of months to rule her spirit now bore fruit.
“I’m sorry I spoke so abruptly,” she said coldly. “I just heard about the sale from Miss Correll. You were quite right in what you said. There was a time when I could not be trusted. My trouble was about clothes, too. Miss Harlowe helped me find my self-respect again, and this year I am trying very hard to be an Overton girl in the truest sense of the word. I am telling you this in confidence because I wish you to understand why Miss Harlowe’s good opinion is so dear to me.”
“You can go and tell her that you knew nothing about the sale,” muttered Jean sullenly. Something in Evelyn’s frank confession had made her feel a trifle ashamed of herself.
Evelyn’s violet eyes grew scornful. “How can you suggest such a thing?” she asked.
It was Jean’s turn to blush. “Forgive me,” she said penitently. “I know you aren’t a tell-tale. If she asks me about the sale, be sure I’ll exonerate you.”
Evelyn shook her head. “I wish you’d go to her, Jean, and tell her what you have done. Sooner or later she is sure to find it out.”
But Jean Brent was in no mood for this advice. It caused her anger to blaze afresh. “There you go again,” she blustered, “with your goody-goody advice to me about running to Miss Harlowe with every little thing I do. I hope I’m not such a baby. If Miss Harlowe sends for me, don’t think for a minute that I’ll be afraid to face her, but until she does send for me I am not going to concern myself about it, and I would advise you not to trouble yourself, either.”
With this succinct advice Jean made a fresh onslaught on the unoffending wardrobe. Opening it she seized her hat and coat. With a last reverberating slam of its long-suffering doors she turned her back on it and Evelyn, and switched defiantly out of the room and on out of the house.