Althea frowned and made her first mistake.
“You’re quite too young for any such ideas,” she said.
“I’m out of the cradle, you know!”—hotly. “I’m old enough to know that I could handle a handsome young man better than you do, for all your age.”
“I think you’re extremely impertinent!”
“You ought to make a friend of me. I can tell you a thing or two. For one thing, he’s too sure of you.”
Althea rose, white with fury.
“I shall certainly report this impudence to your mother,” she said, haughtily, moving away. But Isabelle fired the last shot.
“Oh, Max will agree with me. You ought to watch her. She’s got some technique herself.”
After that encounter Althea looked over and through Isabelle, as if she were thin air. It amused the girl immensely, and in her wise head she made a fair judgment of Miss Morton’s mind and disposition. She decided that she was entirely unworthy of the god-like Jerry, and she was glad he hesitated.