antly Nancy flared up.
Usually the most even tempered and controlled of girls, she could not
keep down her anger when it was roused by Alma's periodic fits of
snobbishness.

"What about Charlotte? Why do you shrug your shoulders like that?
Because Charlotte isn't considered perfectly 'nice' by Mildred?
Because Mildred thinks Charlotte 'rather ordinary--a bit crude,
don'tcherknow?' She's the _realest_ girl in the school, and everyone
of them knows it, too! She's the only one whose mind isn't forever
running on beaux and dances and other girls' faults. She's the only
one of them who has brains and a heart--she's the only real aristocrat
of the whole lot! She's the only one of them whose friendship I'd give
tuppence-ha'penny for----"

Alma quailed a little under Nancy's indignation--she was indeed a bit
ashamed of her snobbish remark; but she did not lower her flag.

"That's no reason why you should let all the other girls know it. We
need all the friends we can get, and we can't _afford_ to lose this
opportunity of making advantageous connections."

This last bit was rather an unfortunate choice of words, smacking as it
did just a bit too strongly of Mildred to soothe Nancy's irate ear at
just that moment.

"_I_ didn't come here to make friends simply for what they could give
me--regardless of whether I liked them or not. And I think it's the
most _contemptible_ thing in the world to toady to girls simply because
they are rich or fashionable, and may invite you to parties and things
that you can never repay. And it's just that snobbish
selfishness--that complete loss of self-respect for the sake of
self-interest that makes so many poor people contemptible. I'd rather
die before I'd play the role of little sister to the rich." Her voice
began to quiver, and she had a wretched feeling that she was very near
tears--tears not of anger so much as of genuine unhappiness. She felt
as if every word she uttered was doing more damage, and her heart ached
because she was quarrelling with Alma, and because Alma was changing
more every day. She longed to throw her arms around her sister, and
kiss away the memory of every word she had uttered, but stubborn pride,
as much a fault with Nancy as a virtue, held her back.

"Do you mean that I'm toadying?" asked Alma, her eyes growing wide. "I
know now what you think of me--and I know that you're simply jealous of
my fondness for Mildred," she went on passionately. "I do