“I would like to go as a Spanish Dancer, though,” she said, presently, biting off a thread with her little white teeth, “I don’t know why, but I do. I’d like to wear a comb in my hair, and a black fan, and scarlet heels!”
“You’d look lovely. I’m sure if you beg hard, your mother would let you,” wheedled Annie Lee. Lily shook her head.
“I don’t think so. And I’m afraid mamma thinks its awfully bold of me even to think of such a thing.”
“There’s nothing bold about a Spanish dancer. Just dashing,” said Dolly.
“But Lily isn’t at all dashing,” remarked Amelia.
“I want to be, though,” said Lily suddenly. “I’d like to be very, very dashing just for once in my life. I want to know what it feels like. I’m sick of being demure and lady-like. Yes, I am! And I want to wear a comb in my hair and scarlet heels.” The color rose in her cheeks, and her blue eyes shone with a rebellious light. “I—I want to—to flirt!”
“Lily!” cried Amelia, in pained astonishment, “why, whatever is the matter with you? You want to flirt? Why, I never heard of such a thing. You, of all people! Why, flirting is beneath you!”
“Oh, no, it’s not!” returned Lily, audaciously. “Do you think it’s beneath you?”
“Of course it’s beneath Amelia,” interrupted Dolly, whose brown eyes were twinkling, “Amelia’s too intellectual to care about anything like that, aren’t you?”
Amelia hesitated.