“Child!” she echoed. “I’m as old as you are, I’ll bet a cookie.”
“In years, perhaps,” answered Doris. “But, permit me to state that your brother was wrong. Having been bred in this simple, out of the way village, he does not understand the difference between a gentleman and a snob. Nor do you realize the rudeness of accosting strangers without a proper introduction, repeating words designed to injure their feelings. I am not blaming you for what you do not know, little girl; I am merely trying to point out to you your error.”
Becky sat plump down upon the sidewalk and stared until her great eyes seemed likely to pop out of their sockets. Then, suddenly seeing the humor of the situation, she smiled her sunny, amiable smile and hugging her knees with both arms said:
“I got it that time—right in the Adam’s apple, where it belonged. My compliments to Miss Doris Randolph,” rising to drop a mock curtsy. “I’ve mislaid my cardcase somewhere, but allow me to present Miss Rebecca Daring, of Riverdale, who resides on the opposite corner. When you return my call I hope you’ll find me out.”
“Wait!” cried Doris, as Becky turned to fly. “Did you say Daring?”
“I said Daring, my child,” with great condescension.
“The Daring family that used to live here, in this place?”
“The same Darings, little girl.”
“Forgive me if I seemed supercilious,” said Doris, earnestly. “I—I mistook you for a common waif of the village, you know. But mamma says the Darings are an excellent family.”
“Score one for mamma, then. She hit the bull’s-eye,” returned Becky, lightly. But, the recognition of her social position was too flattering to be ignored.