“And your Cousin Jimmy is an idiot,” said Chestnut-curls.
“He isn’t!” cried Emily. “He has more sense than any of you. You can say what you like about me but you are not going to insult my family. If you say one more word about them I’ll look you over with the evil eye.”
Nobody understood what this threat meant, but that made it all the more effective. It produced a brief silence. Then the baiting began again in a different form.
“Can you sing?” asked a thin, freckled girl, who yet contrived to be very pretty in spite of thinness and freckles.
“No,” said Emily.
“Can you dance?”
“No.”
“Can you sew?”
“No.”
“Can you cook?”