"It was to prevent that Jackson girl from getting first place.
I don't like Helen Plantagenet; but at least she is a lady.' "Stuff, Gertrude," said Agatha, with a touch of earnestness.

"One would think, to hear you talk, that your grandmother was a cook.

Don't be such a snob." "Miss Wylie," said Gertrude, becoming scarlet: "you are very--oh! oh! Stop Ag--oh! I will tell Miss--oh!" Agatha had inserted a steely finger between her ribs, and was tickling her unendurably.
"Sh-sh-sh," whispered Miss Carpenter anxiously.

"The door is open." "Am I Miss Wylie ?" demanded Agatha, relentlessly continuing the torture.
"Am I very--whatever you were going to say?
Am I?
am I?
am I ?" "No, no," gasped Gertrude, shrinking into a chair, almost in hysterics.
"You are very unkind, Agatha.

You have hurt me." "You deserve it.