“She told him she didn’t want him to walk home with me, call on me, nor show me any attention.”
“Why? Wasn’t he good enough?” sneeringly.
Fair looked at her in surprise.
“I don’t know why you should talk so snappish about it, Miss Platt,” she said resentfully. “If my mother doesn’t wish me to keep company with gentlemen, it isn’t any business of yours, is it?”
The greenish fire of a jealous hate leaped into the blue eyes regarding Fair so keenly, but, forcing a mirthless laugh, the embroiderer retorted:
“Oh, so she don’t want you to keep company with gentlemen at all—is that it? A strange notion. Why, I should think she would be glad to have you marry and get off her hands.”
Fair’s temper was rapidly rising under the sneering remarks of the new girl, and, with flashing eyes, she replied saucily:
“Glad to have me married and off her hands, indeed, when I am her only support! No, I thank you, Miss Platt. Besides, mother tells me often that she would rather see me in my grave than the wife of a poor man.”
“Wants you to marry a rich man, eh?” Miss Platt exclaimed bitterly, and Fair responded impudently:
“Yes, indeed, if I could get one, thank you.”