Lorry looked annoyed.

"He's nicer than any of the others, I think."

"Of course he is, but he's been buried too long in the soil; he needs
polishing." She rolled over on the bed in her laughter.

Lorry began to braid her hair, her face grave.

"I don't think things like that matter a bit, and I don't see at all what
you're laughing at."

"I'm laughing at Marquis de Lafayette. I can't help it--something about
his hands and his manners. They're so ponderously polite; maybe it's from
waiting on table in the students' boarding house."

"I never knew you were a snob before, Chrystie."

"I guess I am. Isn't it awful? Oh, dear, I've laughed so much I've got a
pain. It's perfectly true, I'm a snob. I like my nuggets all smooth and
shiny with no knobs or bits of earth clinging to them."

Lorry's hair was done and she rose and approached her sister.

"You've spoiled my bed. Get off it and go."

But Chrystie would not move. With her face red and the tears of her
laughter standing in her eyes she gazed at the serious one.