Julia knew her very well, and
admired her heartily. Connie had twice had a speaking part in the past
year, and the younger girl felt her to be well on her way toward fame.
Miss Girard's family of plain, respectable folk lived in Stockton, and
were somewhat distressed by her choice of a vocation, but Connie was
really a rather well-behaved girl,--and a safe adviser for Julia.
"Say, listen, Con," said Julia, presently, "you know Mark Rosenthal?"
"Sure," said Connie. "Look here, Ju!" She paused at a window. "Don't you
think these Chinese hand bags are swell!"
"Grand. But listen, Con," said Julia, shamefacedly honest as a boy.
"He's got a case on me----"
"On you?" echoed Connie. "Why, he's twenty!"
"I know it," Julia agreed.
"But, my Lord, Ju, your Mother won't stand for that!"
"Mama don't know it."
"Well, I don't think you ought to do that, Ju," Connie began gravely.
But Julia, with sudden angry tears in her eyes, stopped her.
"I've _not_ done anything!" she said crossly. And suddenly Connie saw the
truth: that Julia, in spite of paint and powder, rings and "clubbed"
hair, was only a little girl, after all, still unsexed, still young
enough to resent being teased about boys.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81