“Very well. I am the smartest scholar in my class,” answered Emily composedly.
“You conceited child!” said Aunt Ruth.
“I’m not conceited.” Emily looked scornful indignation. “Mr. Carpenter said it and he doesn’t flatter. Besides, I can’t help seeing it myself.”
“Well, it is to be hoped you have some brains, because you haven’t much in the way of looks,” said Aunt Ruth. “You’ve no complexion to speak of—and that inky hair around your white face is startling. I see you’re going to be a plain girl.”
“You wouldn’t say that to a grown-up person’s face,” said Emily with a deliberate gravity which always exasperated Aunt Ruth because she could not understand it in a child. “I don’t think it would hurt you to be as polite to me as you are to other people.”
“I’m telling you your faults so you may correct them,” said Aunt Ruth frigidly.
“It isn’t my fault that my face is pale and my hair black,” protested Emily. “I can’t correct that.”
“If you were a different girl,” said Aunt Ruth, “I would—”
“But I don’t want to be a different girl,” said Emily decidedly. She had no intention of lowering the Starr flag to Aunt Ruth. “I wouldn’t want to be anybody but myself even if I am plain. Besides,” she added impressively as she turned to go out of the room, “though I may not be very good-looking now, when I go to heaven I believe I’ll be very beautiful.”