CHAPTER VII
Hands in her pockets, Bettina looked at me disappointedly. "It's
very cold," she said. "Why don't you wear your fur coat?"
"I like this one better. It's warm and not so heavy."
"Your fur coat is the only one in Scarborough Square. A sure-enough
fur one, I mean. There're plenty of imitations. Mrs. Crimm's got an
imitation. You look awful grand in that fur coat--look like a
princess person. Grannie says you don't want to seem different from
the people down here. How are you going to help it?"
"I don't know. I mean--" It was silly that my face should flush
before Bettina's unblinking scrutiny, but flush it did. "I don't
want to seem different. People are much more alike than they
imagine. If we didn't think so much of our differences--"
"Bound to think of them when they're right in your face. You don't
suppose you're anything like Evie May Poore, do you? or Roberta
Wicks, or Mrs. Clay Burt? Every time I see Evie May Poore I wish I
was an Indian so I could tomahawk her hair. Most of her money goes
in hair and chewing-gum.
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