"She—she was furious. She said that she was ashamed of me, and that she was going to write to Mother—and that it was a cheap, common thing to do."
Nancy's eyes blazed. For a moment she sat perfectly still, breathing sharply, evidently trying to conquer her temper. Then she said in a quiet tone:
"She had no business to say that to you. I'm going to speak to her after dinner."
"Oh, don't, Nancy," implored Alma, timidly. "It's all right now. I—I don't want you to say anything to Miss Leland."
"Well, she should have been ashamed of herself to say that to you. She is nothing but a horrid old snob—I'll wager she thought twice over everything she said to Mildred." Nancy's eyes were still fiery. She was beginning to taste the humiliation of having to submit to the tyranny of snobs. If she went to Miss Leland it would end most likely by their having, for the sake of their pride, to pack up and go home. And she felt that she had no right to do anything that would so wound her mother.
"Alma, dearest, I want to say something to you—please don't you be angry with me now. Please, dearest. You know that I haven't a single thought that isn't for your interest—and that I wouldn't for anything on earth try to take away from you anything that was really for your good." She paused, waiting for Alma to say something, but her sister was silent, and the room was too dim now for her to read the expression on Alma's face.
"I think that you have already seen for yourself that there is danger in a friendship where one person lacks a—well, a very keen sense of honor, and the other lacks judgment. I know you don't want to make any more mistakes—you have been very unhappy over a small one, and unless you are wise, big ones may follow."
"You mean—you want me to—to not be friends with Mildred?"
"I want you only to be independent, dear, so that you won't be afraid to do what you know is right and wise, even if she laughs at you and coaxes you. I don't like to criticize Mildred to you if you are very fond of her; but you know that I have never trusted her, and this affair ought to show you, too, that she isn't to be trusted. She has always had her own way, and she isn't a wise girl. She hasn't been a very good influence for you, as you must have seen. Partly because of her influence we quarrelled, you know. She has laughed you out of doing many things that you know well you should have done. I am not blaming you, Alma. It is only because I know that in time Mildred would make you very, very unhappy that I'm telling you not to make her your closest friend."
"She—she—I mean that in many ways she should be a very good friend to have," began Alma, in a low voice.