“Oh, Papa, she's just lovely and she's my friend.”
“Is she, dear, then I apologise, but indeed I meant nothing derogatory to her. I greatly like her, she is so spunky.”
“Yes, there's Nora, and Kathleen, Nora's sister.”
“Oh, Kathleen, the tall beautiful girl with the wonderful hair?”
The little girl sighed. “Oh, such lovely long yellow hair.” The little maid's hair was none of these. “And she is not a bit proud—just nice, you know—just as if she were not so lovely, but like—only like me.”
“Like you, indeed!” exclaimed the doctor indignantly. “Like my little girl? I don't see any one quite like my little girl. There is not one of them with all their yellow hair and things that is to be compared with my own little girl.”
“Oh, Papa. I know you think so, and I wish it was so. And I am awfully glad you think so, but of course you are prejuist, you know.”
“Prejudiced? Not a bit, not a bit.”
“Well, that's Kathleen and Nora, and—and perhaps Hazel—you know Hazel, Papa, Hazel Sleighter?”
“The western girl—not at all wild and woolly though. A very modern and very advanced young lady, isn't she?”