From that time onward Jean's position was an established fact.
Florence Lang was the acknowledged beauty of the V, a dainty
maiden of thirteen, with fluffy, yellow hair, great blue eyes, and
a pink and white skin which might have made a French doll sigh
with envy. The only daughter of a luxurious home, she was always
beautifully dressed, always quiet in her manners. No matter how
excited and demoralized the rest of the V might become, Florence
never failed to come out of the frolic as gentle and unspotted as
she went in, greatly to the disgust and envy of Polly, whose
clothes had a tendency to get mysteriously torn, whose shoes
appeared to go in search of dust, and whose short, curly hair had
a perfect genius for getting into a state of wild disorder. It was
not that Florence seemed to take any more care of herself than the
others, but she was naturally one of those favored beings to whom
no particle of dust could cling, who could use none but the
choicest language. Such gentle children have admirers enough; it
is the luckless, quick-tempered Pollies, the warm-hearted, harum-
scarum Jeans, who need a champion.
If Molly and Polly had never disagreed, the quintette would have
been only a trio; for, when they were at peace, they were all in
all to each other.
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