began to cry—she’s so ugly when she cries—well, I just slapped her.”
“I suppose you felt better after that,” said Emily, determined not to show any disapproval before Evelyn.
Ilse burst out laughing.
“Yes, at first. It stopped her yowling, anyway. But afterwards came remorse. I’ll apologise to her, of course. I do feel real sorry—but I’m quite likely to do it again. If Mary here weren’t so good I wouldn’t be half as bad. I have to even the balance up a bit. Mary is meek and humble and Mrs. Adamson walks all over her. You should hear her scold Mary if Mary goes out more than one evening a week.”
“She is right,” said Evelyn. “It would be much better if you went out less. You're getting talked about, Ilse.”
“You weren’t out last night, anyhow, were you, dear?” asked Ilse with another unholy grin.
Evelyn coloured and was haughtily silent. Emily buried herself in her note-book and Mary and Ilse went out. Emily wished Evelyn would go, too. But Evelyn had no intention of going.
“Why don’t you make Ilse behave herself?” she began in a hatefully confidential sort of way.
“I have no authority over Ilse,” said Emily coldly. “Besides, I don’t think she misbehaves.”
“Oh, my dear girl—why, you heard her yourself saying she slapped Mrs. Adamson.”
“Mrs. Adamson needed it. She’s an odious woman—always crying when there’s no need in the world for her to cry. There’s nothing more aggravating.”
“Well, Ilse skipped French again yesterday afternoon and went for a walk up-river with Ronnie Gibson. If she does that too often she’s going to get caught.”
“Ilse is very popular with the boys,” said Emily, who knew that Evelyn wanted to be.
“She’s popular in the wrong quarters.” Evelyn was condescending now, knowing by instinct that Emily Starr hated to be condescended to. “She always has a ruck of
