That was to be a strange, terrible and eventful Monday. The Day of Overheard Conversations Mabel might have named it.
There was nothing to warn her of the day's disagreeable outcome. It was one of Louisville's loveliest mornings, and there was enough left from her Sunday dinner to give her a good breakfast. She was up early enough to go over her lessons, and the apartment as she left it after Sunday's violent cleaning had a look of righteous order and dustlessness. Also, having read the poem a number of times, Mabel saw herself as the coming poetess and preened herself accordingly.
One of the nicest girls in high school overtook Mabel and they walked to school together. It was in the cloak-room that Mabel received her first stab. The other stepped around the end of a cloak rack where she was met by a third girl whom Mabel knew but slightly.
"Hello, Grace," she heard her say. "I stopped at your house but you had gone."
"Yes, I walked to school with Mabel Brewster," replied Grace.
"Well, how you can stand her I don't know," said the other girl with a sniff. "Of all the stupid prigs she is the worst!"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said Grace gently.
"Well, I would!" declared the other girl stubbornly. "She thinks she is a wonder and knows everything, when in fact she is stupid and conceited, and no one likes her."
Grace was a Girl Scout and this talk shocked her. She shook her head. "I don't think you are really right, Mary, and besides I don't think you ought to speak so."
"It is true, just the same," said the girl stubbornly. "You know yourself what her marks are—just as low as she can stand and pass. And that way she has of smiling in such a superior way when anyone else misses. And when she misses she always has such a good excuse! I do wonder why the teachers stand for it!"