"Miss Young will have to be judge, not I," replied Dorothy coldly.
"Flossie is in your bedroom, Dorothy," announced Claudia. "She has the cubicle near the fireplace."
"If you're sleeping in the bed next to mine," said Flossie, eyeing Dorothy across the table with a rather patronizing air, "I sincerely hope you don't snore."
"Of course not!" responded Dorothy, in some indignation.
"At St. Bride's," continued Flossie, "one of my room-mates snored atrociously. I used to have to get up and shake her, and pull the pillow from under her head, before I could go to sleep."
"I would, in a minute, if you kept me awake."
"It is a shame she's not in our room," interposed Edith. "We've asked Miss Maitland to let her change with Geraldine Saunders, and I think perhaps she may. We want Flossie all to ourselves; I do hope she'll let us!"
"So do I!" retorted Dorothy feelingly. "The Hammond-Smiths are welcome to their cousin, so far as I'm concerned," she whispered to Chatty Burns; "I don't like her. She's trying to show off. Edith and Claudia are making far too much fuss over her."
"They always gush," commented Chatty. "Still, I dare say Flossie will need taking down a little."
"It would do her all the good in the world," replied Dorothy. Then, turning to the Hammond-Smiths, she remarked aloud: "There's a new girl here who may be just as good as your cousin, for anything we know. Honor Fitzgerald, do you play tennis?"
"I can play, but how you'll like it is another story," answered Honor. "We two," nodding at Flossie, "had better try a set by ourselves, and then you can choose the winner."
"I'm sure I don't care about it, thank you." Flossie's tone was supercilious.
"All right! We don't force ourselves where we're not wanted in my part of the world."
"Is that Ireland? Then I suppose your name is Biddy?"
"I thought all Irish girls were called Biddy; are you sure you're not?"
"Really! I'm astonished it isn't Mulligan, or O'Grady."
The Hammond-Smiths giggled, and poked Effie and Blanche Lawson.
"Isn't Flossie funny?" they whispered delightedly.
"I think she's very rude," observed Dorothy Arkwright. "I call that an extremely cheap form of wit."
"Irish names are often rather peculiar," drawled Claudia Hammond-Smith.