“Oh, dear! so that is the Irish and English way,” said Stephanotie. “But there, don't let us talk nationalities; let's be cozy and cheerful. I can tell you I did feel annoyed at coming here such a dowd; it was not my fault. I meant to make an impression; I did, really and truly. It was very good of you, Molly, to ask me; and I know that proud lady, your mother, didn't want to have me a bit. I am nothing but Stephanotie Miller, and she doesn't know the style we live in at home. If she did, maybe she would open her eyes a little; but she doesn't, and that's flat; and I am vulgar, or supposed to be, just because I am frank and open, and I have no concealment about me. I call a spade a spade.”
“Oh, hurrah! so do I,” said Molly, the irrepressible.
“Well, my dear, I don't use your words; they wouldn't suit me at all,” said the American girl. “I never call out Jehoshaphat the way you do, whoever Jehoshaphat is; but I have my little eccentricities, and they run to pretty and gay dresses—dresses with bright colors and quantities of lace on them—and bon-bons at all hours, in season and out of season. It's easy to content me, and I don't see why my little innocent wishes should not be gratified.”
“But you are very nicely dressed now,” said Nora, looking with approval at the gray cashmere.
“Me nicely dressed!” screamed Stephanotie. “Do you call this dress nice? Why, I do declare it's a perfect shame that I should be made such a spectacle. It don't suit my hair. When I am ordering a dress I choose shades of red; they tone me down. I am fiery to-day—am I not, Molly?”
“Well, you certainly are,” said Molly. “But what—what did you do to it?”
“To my locks, do you mean?”
“Yes. They do stick out so funnily. I know mother was shocked; she likes our heads to be perfectly smooth.'
“Like the Armitages', for instance,” said Stephanotie.
“Well, yes; something like theirs. They are pretty girls, are they not?”