“What?” I asked.
“A little bit—don’t be offended—a little bit neglected.”
“She had no right to say so; I am not.”
As I spoke I laid my hand on the dark-blue dress, and all of a sudden I grew to hate it. I disliked Hermione also.
“What is the matter?” she said. “Have I hurt you in any way? I wouldn’t for all the world. I am so truly glad to make your acquaintance.”
“You didn’t mean to,” I said, recovering my temper; “but the fact is, Hermione, I live one life and you live another. You are rich, and we are poor; I am not ashamed to say it.”
“It must be rather exciting to be poor,” said Hermione. “I mean it must be interesting to know the value of money. But you don’t look poor, Dumps—or—I mean Rachel. That dress—”
“Oh! don’t talk of my dress, please.”
“I know it’s bad form,” she replied, and she seemed to shrink into her shell.
After a minute she spoke on a different subject, and just then a stately but somewhat withered-looking lady entered the room.