“You live in New York?” asked Cologne, attempting to get in the conversation.
“At present, yes,” answered Miette, “but I have not been long in this country.”
“Yet you speak English well,” remarked Ned.
“I had a very good English teacher at home,” went on the stranger, “and my mother was an American.”
“Oh, then you are only some French,” spoke up Nita Brandt, with a look that meant the other “some” was not of so high a social order.
Miette dropped her eyes. Dorothy glared at Nita. The others saw that the remark had pained the new pupil.
“Come on,” spoke up Dorothy, “we must show you around. We are rather lazy to-day—those of us who have been travelling, but as you came yesterday I suppose you are quite rested, and would like to get acquainted with everything. Come on, girls. Let’s see if we remember how to make Glenwood tea.”
“Tea and turn out,” responded Tavia. “I’ll take the tea, but I never cared for ‘turning out.’”
This sally seemed very funny to Miette, who laughed outright, and in turn her laugh seemed very funny to the other girls. It was so surprising to hear the peal of real live laughter ring out through the place. Of course, all the pupils knew how to laugh, but somehow this was different—and from the little stranger in her plain black dress the outburst was entirely unexpected.
“She’s all right,” whispered Ned to Cologne, “any girl with a roar like that is sound. Just see Nita titter, and listen to Lena giggle. Now, they’re hopeless.”