“I want to go for a walk. I hate driving.”
“To walk on such a day, Rachel? I should think you would be glad to have the comfort of our carriage.”
She was always careful never to call anything hers; she always said “ours.”
I flushed angrily.
“I hate driving,” I repeated.
“I am sorry, dear. Well, we will get the things you hate over as quickly as possible. You must get your school outfit, you see, as you are going to Paris on the 21st. Now run upstairs and get your hat and jacket on.”
Was there ever a girl so bullied before? I went unwillingly upstairs. On the second floor, where I now slept, I saw Hannah coming downstairs. I ran up to her and took one of her hands.
“What have you been doing?” I asked.
“Doing?” said Hannah. “Doing? What’s the matter with you, Dumps?”
“She’s going to send me away, Hannah.”