With the thought of the cap came a recollection of Mr. Pennington. He and Paul Ralston belonged to Clarice Percy’s world. They had been very kind to her. They liked her. They did not think her a guy from the “wild and woolly” West, and their opinion was worth more than that of Clarice. There was some consolation in this, and, drying her eyes, she wrung the water from the dripping garments on the floor, rolled them in a newspaper and started for home.
Her aunt had told her to ride both ways, as the walk was a long one from the bath houses to the cottage, and the car was ready to start as she came out of the building. In it were Paul and Clarice, the latter very fresh and cool looking in her thin summer muslin, a striking contrast to Elithe’s plain calico and linen collar.
“I’ll not ride with her,” Elithe thought, shaking her head at the conductor, who was ringing the bell and inviting her to get in.
It was hot and dusty, but she did not mind it as she hurried along, smarting from the indignity she had suffered and anxious to be rid of the detested bundle she carried. What she should do with it she did not know until she reached the cottage. Miss Hansford was ironing with a hotter fire than usual, and had just lifted a cover from the stove, when Elithe burst in like a whirlwind.
Her eyes were flashing, her face was crimson, with perspiration trickling down it in streams, and she looked more like a little fury than the usual mild and placid Elithe.
“What is the matter?” Miss Hansford asked, but Elithe did not reply.
She was dropping the blue suit upon the red-hot coals and watching it as it spluttered and hissed and sent up great smudges of smoke and an odor of burning wool. She did not stop to cover it up, but, darting up to her room, found the velvet riding cap which suited her so well. She detested it now, and, hurrying back to the kitchen, removed the cover her aunt had replaced and dropped the pretty velvet thing into the fire, and with the poker pushed the burning mass into the flame until it was a charred and blackened crisp.
“Are you crazy or what?” Miss Hansford asked, this time rather indignantly, for the room was full of smoke and black flecks, some of which had settled upon the table-cloth she was ironing.
“Never was more sane in my life, and never more angry,” Elithe replied.
Little by little she told her story, while Miss Hansford listened, forgetting her table-cloth drying on the ironing board and her fire dying down from contact with so much wool and salt water. Never before had Miss Hansford been so indignant. Even Paul came in for a share of her animadversion. He was a fool to care for a girl like Clarice. Everything pertaining to the Percys was brought to light. The bondman was resurrected, with old Roger and the treasury clerks, until there was scarcely a shred of respectability left to the family. And Clarice had insulted Elithe and called her a guy and made fun of her clothes and trunk.