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Page 28
It must be grand to live in one of the biggest hotels in the world, and
see all the sights she sees. I imagine it is a sort of a palace. She
showed us the picture of her three best friends at school. It is in a
big silver locket set with sapphires, and hangs over a corner of her
mirror. We heard a great deal of them this morning. She seems to think
more of that Mollie and Fay and Kell than she does of her father.
It is funny that when you are with Eugenia you can't help feeling the
same way she does about what she's telling; that it is right to break
the rules and skip recitations and torment the teachers and play jokes
on the girls not in their set. She seems to have a great influence over
Lloyd. I don't believe godmother would like it if she knew how much.
Already Lloyd has promised to tease her father and mother into letting
her go to New York next fall, to enter Eugenia's school. She told us
that it is very select, and said, "You know sometimes schools that
advertise themselves as being awfully select are no better than those
horrid public schools, for they take anybody who applies, no matter how
common they are."
Joyce asked her why she called public schools horrid, and she answered
in such a disgusted, patronising way, "Oh, nobody who _is_ anybody would
go to a public school."
That made Joyce mad, and she told her that she went to one and that she
was proud of it; that where she lived public schools were considered
better than the private ones. They had better teachers and more
progressive methods; and she said she wouldn't give up the Plainsville
High School for all the select seminaries in New York.
Then Eugenia drawled in _such_ a bored tone, "Oh, _wouldn't_ you! Well,
maybe _you_ wouldn't, being from the West, you know. I've always heard
it spoken of out there as wild and woolly, and I suppose it is all a
matter of taste."
Then she gave a provoking little laugh, and began to hum a tune, as if
public schools and people who went to them were too common for her to
think about. Joyce looked out of the window with a sort of don't-care
expression, and said something in French. Of course I couldn't
understand it, but she told me afterward that it was a well-known
proverb about the opinion of a wise fool.
Eugenia was so astonished! She did not know that Joyce can speak French.
She has a way of using it herself all the time when she talks. She is
always throwing in a French word or sentence that Lloyd and I can't
understand. Joyce laughed about it to me the first day she came, and
said Eugenia is just as apt to use the wrong word as the right one. This
was the first time that Joyce had spoken French, and Eugenia was so
surprised she couldn't help showing it, and asked her why she had never
said anything before in that language. Joyce told her that her teacher
never allowed her to mix the languages. She said it was in bad taste to
do so in speaking to people who only understood one; that it seemed
affected, or as if the person wanted to show off how much she knew.
Then that made Eugenia mad, and she asked her in a spiteful way if it
was a public school teacher that told her that, and said she didn't
know that they taught French out West. Joyce said yes, that they did,
but that of course a year abroad was quite a help, and that before she
left France they told her that her accent was quite Parisian.
That took the wind out of Eugenia's sails. She did not know that Joyce
had been abroad. She is crazy to go herself, but that is the one thing
that her father will not humour her in. He says that she must wait until
she is older, and he has time to go with her himself. All her friends
have been, and it seemed to mortify her that Joyce was ahead of her
there. She hasn't put on any airs with Joyce since, although she still
does with me.
This is a great deal of nonsense to write in my "Good times" book, but I
have put it in to explain why we have paired off as we have. Joyce and I
go together now, and Eugenia and Lloyd. Eugenia flatters her all the
time, and never says hateful things to her as she does to us, and Lloyd
thinks that Eugenia is perfection.
Some letters came this afternoon,--a whole handful for Eugenia, written
on handsome linen paper and sealed with pretty monogram seals. I had a
letter, too. The first one since I have been here. It was from Davy, and
printed in big tipsy letters that straggled all over the page. There
were only a few lines, but I knew how long the little fellow must have
worked over them, gripping the pencil tight in his hard little fist. I
was so proud of it, Davy's first letter, that I passed it around for the
girls to see. Lloyd and Joyce were interested and amused, and laughed as
I had done over the dear crooked letters; but Eugenia was in one of her
high and mighty moods, and she only lifted those black eyebrows in that
indifferent way of hers, and tossed it back.
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