“Be it ever so homely, there’s no face like one’s own,” cried Judy, who at that moment had come into the room and caught Molly’s last words. “What’s all this talk about home?”
“I was just telling Millicent about the old-fashioned, whitewashed brick palace wherein I was born,” answered Molly.
“I’m sorry you won’t accept my invitation,” said Millicent, taking no notice of Judy whatever. “Perhaps, after you think about it awhile you’ll change your mind.” Her manner was heavy and patronizing, and implied without words:
“After you have had time to consider the honor I am paying you and the advantages of visiting in my splendid home, you cannot fail to accept.”
“You are very kind, Millicent, but I shall not reconsider it,” announced Molly coldly. “I have made up my mind to spend Christmas right here in the Quadrangle. I hope you’ll have a beautiful time. Good-bye.” They shook hands formally.
“I’ll try to see the best in her,” she thought, “but I’d rather not see it at close hand. She grates on me.”
Judy waved an open letter with a dramatic gesture.
“Oh, Molly, dearest, I’m glad you didn’t accept. It’s my own selfish pleasure that makes me glad, but I’m going to spend Christmas right here in the Quadrangle, too.”
Molly looked at her friend’s eager, excited face in surprise.
“Do you mean your mother and father are coming here?”