“There's no help for you, you poor child,” cried Alexia, exulting that she never would be gathered into Miss Anstice's class, and that she just hated art and all that sort of thing, despite the efforts of Miss Salisbury's younger sister to get her interested. “Yes, that black silk gown will surely be there. Look out now, Amy; all you girls will catch it.”
“Oh, I know it,” said Amy with a sigh. “How I do wish I never'd got into that class!”
“Well, you know I told you,” said Alexia provokingly; “you'd much better have taken my advice and kept out of her clutches.”
“I wish I had,” mourned Amy again.
“How Miss Anstice can be so horrid—she isn't a bit like Miss Salisbury,” said Alexia. “I don't see—”
“She isn't horrid,” began Polly.
“Oh Polly!”
“Well, not always,” said Polly.
“Well, she is anyway when she has company, and gets on that black silk gown; just as stiff and cross and perky and horrid as can be.”
“She wants you all to show off good,” said Alexia. “Well, I'm glad enough I'm not in any of her old classes. I just dote on Miss Salisbury.”