“Oh, you are turning aristocratic, and I hate you,” said Nancy, with a toss of the head.
She looked intensely jealous and annoyed. She herself was to ride soon, and her habit was already being made. She had hoped against hope that Miss Tredgold would be impressed by seeing her gallop past in an elegant habit on a smart horse.
“Oh, Nancy!” said Pauline, “don’t let us talk about ponies and things of that sort now; I am in great, great trouble.”
“I must say I’m rather glad,” said Nancy. “You know, Paulie, you are in some ways perfectly horrid. I did a great deal for you the other night, and this is all the thanks I get. You won’t come to the midnight picnic, forsooth! And you won’t have anything more to do with me, forsooth! You’ll ride past me, I suppose, and cut me dead.”
“I shall never do anything unkind, for I really do love you, Nancy. I have always loved you, but I can’t get into fresh scrapes. They’re not worth while.”
“You didn’t talk like that when you were mad and starving the other day.”
“No, I didn’t; but I do now. I have been miserable ever since I came back; and, oh, my arm has pained me so badly! You can imagine what I felt last evening when we were desired to wear pretty new blouses with elbow-sleeves; such sweet little dears as they all were. Mine was cream-color—just what suits me best—but of course I couldn’t appear in it.”
“Why not?”
“With my burnt arm! How could I, Nancy?”
Nancy burst out into a roar of laughter.