It was clear they despised their instructress.

Yet they seemed happy enough in a way.
"I wonder why ?" thought Corona.

"I don't like Miss Dickinson; first, because she has the nose of a witch, and next because she is afraid of us.

I think she is afraid of us because we're poor.

Well, I'm not afraid of her--not really; but I'd feel mighty uncomfortable if she had dear old daddy in there alone instead of Uncle Copas." Meanwhile in the drawing-room--likewise resonant with canaries--Miss Dickinson was carefully helping Brother Copas to understand that as a rule she excluded all but children of the upper classes.
"It is not--if you will do me so much credit--that I _look down_ upon the others; but I find that the children themselves are not so happy when called upon to mix with those of a different station.
The world, after all, is the world, and we must face facts as they are." "You mean, ma'am, that your young ladies--or some of them--might twit Corona for having a father who wears the Beauchamp robe." "I would not say _that_.