But Dawapa only nodded her head and did not reply.
Gerry leaned over.
“Oh, if that prayer plume thing brings one good luck, give it to me?” she demanded, reaching over and making an attempt to take the baho from the Indian girl’s hand.
But Dawapa held to it firmly.
“Don’t do that, Gerry,” Bettina Graham said hastily and with a note of authority. “Dawapa told you that the prayer plume is a part of the Indian religious ceremony.”
After all, Bettina Graham was her mother’s daughter, and courtesy and good breeding had been the rule of her life. She did not dislike Gerry; indeed, she had not paid a great deal of attention to her, but occasionally something in the other girl’s behavior offended her almost unconsciously.
And, in a way, Gerry knew and resented this. In fact, she had immediately decided that what Bettina’s friends called shyness was only hauteur, due to her father’s prominence and her own social position.
At Bettina’s speech she now flushed angrily, but drew away from the Indian girl. Then she laughed a faintly mocking, insinuating laugh.
“I beg your pardon; I had forgotten what a convert you have become to ‘the poor Indian.’”
Just exactly what Gerry meant by this stupid speech, Bettina did not appreciate. However, she did know that it was her intention to be rude.