"Ill! No, of course not. I wish you would leave me in peace, Cynthia. What do you want?"
"To come into my own room, of course. But what is the matter, Edith? Was papa scolding you?"
Edith, longing for sympathy, poured out the story, but she did not receive much from that practical young person.
"I wouldn't cry my eyes out about that. Of course you will have to do as papa says, or he won't like it at all. And it is a thousand times nicer to drive in the surrey than that old rattle-trap of a buggy. The surrey runs so smoothly, and Bess goes like a breeze. You had better give in gracefully, Edith. But see this lovely silver buckle and belt mamma has just given me to wear this afternoon. Isn't it perfect? She says she has more than she can wear. It was one of her own. I think she's a dear. But there is Jack calling me to practise."
And happy-hearted Cynthia was off again like a flash.
Edith bathed her face and began to think better of the subject. After all, she would go. It was a lovely day, every one would be there, and it was not worth while to make people talk. Above all, she would be sorry to miss the affair to which she had been looking forward for weeks.
She dressed herself that afternoon in a simple gingham that had seen the wash-tub many times, and took her place on the back seat of the surrey, with Mrs. Franklin, Jack and Cynthia sitting in front. Mrs. Franklin was in the daintiest of summer frocks, and Edith glanced at her somewhat enviously.
"I wish we were the ones that had the money," she thought, "and that she were poor. I believe then I should not mind having her so much."
Mrs. Franklin had a gay and cheery disposition, and she tried to pay no attention to Edith's coldness.
"I wish I were going to play myself," she said.