Carmella Commands
hurt, rather than help, her plight. But she wanted to be in touch with the Barrington family. And now she had spoiled it all by this outbreak. Mrs. Barrington interrupted her racing thoughts.
“Carmella,” she began, her poise recovered and again smiling, “tell me how to get your mother interested in the class once more.”
“Santo Dio, Mrs. Barrington, don’t smile like that,” said Carmella.
“What!” Mrs. Barrington was again startled out of her composure.
“Don’t smile,” repeated Carmella. “Look friendly instead.”
Mrs. Barrington’s face was that of Mona Lisa being scolded in front of the class.
“But, Carmella⸺” she began.
“You say the class is for the women,” went on Carmella, like a ruthless rhyme. “But you boss it. You smile down and boss it. Stop smile and stop boss! My mother, she good as you. Some ways she’s better. Not so much American, but more lace. Excuse me, please, but I got thing to do back home. Good-bye, Mrs. Barrington!”
“Wait a minute!” pleaded the sponsor, still suffering from a form of verbal shell-shock. “Would your mother come to the class if I asked her to teach me to make lace?”
“Maybe! I don’t know. Maybe, if you act as if
[58]
