The Franklins were to have a party during the holidays, and it had been planned for the following Tuesday—New-Year's eve.
"If we had only arranged to have it earlier we might have escaped that horrid Branson," said Cynthia, regretfully, the day after Christmas. "Now, of course, he will come with the Morgans, and, worse still, we shall have to be polite to him in our own house."
"I should hope so," said Edith. "You were rude enough to him at the picnic, and I do think good manners are so attractive. I am going to cultivate them as much as possible. No one will ever like you unless you are polite, Cynthia."
"I seem to have plenty of friends," returned her sister, composedly, "and I don't really care to have Bronson like me. In fact, I would rather prefer that he shouldn't. I wouldn't consider it much of a compliment to be liked by a—a—creature like that!"
It would be impossible to convey an idea of the contempt in Cynthia's voice as she said this.
"And if you are going to have such lovely manners, I should think it would be just as well to begin at home," she added.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I don't suppose you will like it, but really, Edith, sometimes it does seem as if you just tried to hurt mamma's feelings. I know I ought not to say this, perhaps, for you think I am only a younger sister, I suppose, and haven't any right to lecture you; but when I remember how nice you really are, I can't bear to have you act so. If you only would try to like her, instead of trying not to like her! There, don't cry, dear; I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
And Cynthia threw her arms around her sister and kissed her.
"You have hurt them," said Edith, with a sob, "but I deserve it. I don't know what has gotten into me since the Gordons came. I can't like her being here. Oh, Cynthia, you don't know how I feel sometimes! I wish I didn't have such bad, wicked thoughts."