“Wouldn’t you like to take your shoes off,” she asked sweetly, “and rest your feet a little?”
Now Jensina couldn’t possibly take her shoes off, and both the dolls knew it. They were painted on, and while painted-on shoes are the cheapest and most comfortable that any one can have, they are also the sign of inferior social position. Both Gladys and Virginia had once possessed real shoes—bronze paper shoes with buckles—but they had been lost long ago, and one of Virginia’s feet being broken off near the instep, she couldn’t have kept a shoe on even if she still had it; Jensina knew they were only trying to humiliate her, but she didn’t care; her feet were both unchipped and they served her quite well for walking. So she merely stared hard at Virginia’s broken toes and replied:
“I never take my shoes off in company. I don’t think it is quite nice!”
Both dolls turned very red.
“I daresay she sleeps in them,” Virginia whispered in a loud aside, and Gladys returned: “We might lend her something to wear. Poor thing! I think I've got an old petticoat somewhere about.”
“I’ve got a perfectly good dress of my own,” Jensina replied aloud, “and it doesn’t need washing either!”
“Really!” said Virginia. “How strange! What is it made of?”
“It’s made of gingham,” said Jensina proudly.
