For a few days Mrs Hazlitt examined the post box, but there was no
letter of any sort from Penelope. In the end, she was obliged to
confess to Deborah that she had been--she supposed--quite mistaken in
the girl.
"I am distressed about her," she said; "for she doesn't look well or
happy. But there is no doubt that she has not written anything which I
ought to see. Do not make yourself unhappy therefore, Deborah dear, but
let us continue our usual pleasant life and trust that my suspicions
have not been justified."
"Oh, I am certain they have not," said Deborah. "Meanwhile," continued
Mrs Hazlitt, "we are exceedingly busy; I find the tableaux are going to
be much better than I expected. The little plays too, and the garden of
roses--an extravaganza--will be quite sweet. But I am really putting
all my strength and energy into Tennyson's poem; I am only vexed that
Honora Beverley cannot be Helen of Troy."
"But what do you think of the present Helen?" enquired Miss Duke.
"She is much more remarkable than I thought it possible she could be. I
am most anxious to see her to-night, when we have a dress rehearsal and
she will wear her costume for the first time. She is a queer girl, and
not a happy one. I wonder what sort of creature that sister of hers
is."
"By the way," said Miss Duke, "she came to me this morning with a
petition. She wants to know if she may invite her sister to the
performance. It seems that Miss Brenda Carlton could take an early
train from where she is now staying and reach here in time for the day's
festivities; and Penelope would take it as a great favour if she might
sleep in her room that night."
"No," replied Mrs Hazlitt with decision. "That I do not allow. Were I
to accede to Penelope's wish, the same request would be presented to me
by each of my pupils. The girls will especially require their night's
rest after the excitement of the day. I don't know anything about Miss
Brenda, but I am quite willing to invite her here as Penelope's
relation, only she cannot sleep in the house."
"I will speak to Penelope and tell her what you say," remarked Miss
Duke.
She moved away rather sadly. She was fully convinced, in spite of
herself, that there was something not quite right in the school, but not
for worlds would she give hint to Mrs Hazlitt with regard to the
matter.
She found Penelope, as usual, surrounded by some of the younger girls.
She dismissed them with a playful word and then, taking her pupil's
hand, led her into the oak parlour where such a serious conversation had
taken place between herself and the headmistress.
"What in the world is it, Deborah?" said Penelope.
She had a sort of defiant manner in these days--quite different from her
old way which, although languid, provokingly so at times, was at least
downright and matter-of-fact.
"What is it?" she said. "Why are you so mysterious?"
"I thought you wanted your sister to come to see the tableaux."
"Oh, Brenda--yes, she says she will come; I heard from her only this
morning. Is Mrs Hazlitt agreeable?"
"Quite agreeable."
"And may she share my room and bed?"
"That is just the point that I want to speak to you about, Penelope.
She may not do so. Mrs Hazlitt's ideas on that subject are quite fixed
and cannot by any possibility be altered. If your sister comes, we must
find a room for her in the village."
"It doesn't much matter whether she comes or not," said Penelope,
shrugging her shoulders. "I don't suppose she will care to go to the
expense of a room in the village. She is very young too, and can't
sleep alone at a hotel."
"But you would like her to see you as Helen of Troy?"
"Like it!" said Penelope--"yes, perhaps I should. I hate the whole
thing as I never hated anything in all my life before, but it might be a
sort of satisfaction to have Brenda there. I'd do a good deal--yes, a
good deal for Brenda; but I don't think she will stay in the village."
"You want to write to her to-day about it, don't you?"
"I may as well write to-day. She is making her plans; she is going to
the seaside with her pupils, but could come to me on her way. But don't
let us fuss about it, please. I don't really--greatly care."
"But _I_ care that you should have pleasure," said little Miss Duke.
"You know well how much I care. Wait a second until I get the
time-table."
She flew out of the room, returning in a few minutes with a Bradshaw.
By dint of careful searching, she discovered that a train could be found
which would take Miss Brenda Carlton back to her rectory about midnight
on the day of the break-up. Penelope condescended to seem pleased.
"Thank you," she said, "I will let her know. She may not care to come,
for I think her principal reason was to have a chat with me; but there
is no saying. I will tell her the train, anyhow."
Penelope did write to Brenda, giving her full particulars with regard to
the train.
"My Dear Brenda," she wrote: "Your sleeping with me and having--as you
express it--a cosy chat, is out of the question. Cause why:
headmistress doesn't allow cosy chats between schoolgirls and their
sisters. Reason for this: can't say--excites bad motives, in my
opinion. Anyhow, if you want to see Helen of Troy in all her pristine
splendour, you must take the train which leaves Harroway at nine in
the morning; that will get you here by noon. You will have a hearty
welcome and will mingle with the other guests, and I find there is a
train back to Harroway at ten o'clock, which gets there sharp at
twelve. Don't come if you don't want to: that's the best I can do for
you.
"Your affectionate sister,--
"Penelope."
Now this letter reached Miss Brenda Carlton on a certain morning when
she was pouring out very weak coffee for the small daughters of the
Reverend Josiah Amberley. There were three Misses Amberley, and they
wore about as commonplace young ladies as could be found in the length
and breadth of England. Their manners were atrocious; their learning
very nearly nil, and their power of self-control nowhere. Why Brenda
Carlton, of all people under the sun, had been deputed governess to
these three romps, must remain a puzzle to any thoughtful reader. But
the Reverend Josiah was always pleased to see a pretty face; was always
taken with a light and agreeable manner; and, knowing nothing whatever
about the bringing up of children, was glad to find a girl who would
undertake the duty for the small sum of thirty pounds per annum. This
money Brenda Carlton received quarterly. She also had a month's holiday
some time in the year--not in the summer, for that would be specially
inconvenient to the Reverend Josiah, who wished his young people to
enjoy the benefit of the sea breezes and could not possibly take them to
any seaside resort himself.
He was a little sandy-haired man of over fifty years of age; devoted,
after a fashion, to his work, and absolutely easy-going as regarded his
establishment.
Mrs Amberley had died when Nina, the youngest of the three sisters, was
five years old. Nina was now ten; Josephine, the next girl, was between
eleven and twelve; and Brenda's eldest pupil, Fanchon--as for some
extraordinary reason she was called--would soon be fourteen. The three
sisters resembled their father. They were short in stature, thickset,
with very sandy hair and small blue eyes. They had no special
capabilities, nor any gifts which took them out of the ordinary line.
But they were all fond of Brenda, who could do with them exactly what
she willed. She made them her confidantes, but taught them little or
nothing.
On the day when she received her letter from Penelope, she continued to
pour out the coffee until the whole family were supplied. Then she sat
down, and deliberately read it. As she did so, three pairs of eyes were
fixed on her face.
Nina, whose privilege it was always to sit near her governess, looked
mysterious and full of mischief. The other girls showed by their faces
that they were devoured by curiosity. But the Reverend Josiah required
to be humoured. To talk nonsense or of such frivolities as dress in his
presence was not to be thought of. Brenda had taught her pupils to
respect his scruples in that matter. In reality, poor man, they did not
exist; but she thought it well to keep her pupils in a certain awe of
him--so she was fond of saying:
"As a clergyman, my dears, your father must condemn the dress that makes
a woman look pretty; and if you talk about it in his presence, I shall
never be able to get your nice frocks for our seaside jaunt, for he will
not give me the money."
This was a terrible thought to the three Misses Amberley, and, in
consequence, they seemed as innocent with regard to the muslins and
chiffons and voile as though these materials did not exist.
The Reverend Josiah believed that dresses were divided into two
categories: cotton dresses for the morning, and silk dresses for the
afternoon. He had not the faintest idea that any other textures could
be procured. It grieved him sometimes to think that his little
daughters did not wear silk on those rare occasions when his
parishioners came to visit him, but as he couldn't afford it, he did not
give the matter another thought. Brenda read her letter, folded it up,
and put it into her pocket. The Reverend Mr Amberley, having eaten an
excellent meal, rose to leave the room. As he was doing so, Brenda
raised her voice:
"I am very sorry to interrupt you, Mr Amberley, but can I see you
presently in your study?"
The rector signified his assent to this proposition. He was always glad
to have an interview with Miss Carlton, for he considered himself in
rare luck to have such a nice stylish girl with his little orphans--as
he was fond of calling them.
"I shall be in my study at eleven o'clock," he said, "and quite at your
service, Miss Carlton."
Brenda smiled, showing her brilliant teeth and starry blue eyes, and the
rector went away thinking what a dazzling creature she was, and how
lucky it was for Fanchon and Josephine and Nina to have such a nice
governess to instruct them.
"How my sainted wife--could she speak--would bless that girl!" was his
thought. "How happy she makes my dear little ones, and how nice she
always manages to look herself!"
"Now, please--please, Brenda!" said Nina, catching her governess by the
sleeve the moment the door had closed behind the rector. "That letter--
we want to know all about it."
"Yes, of course we do," said Josephine.
"Out with the news!" exclaimed Fanchon.
"There isn't a great deal of news to relate," replied Brenda. "I am
invited to spend the eighth of July with my dear sister at that
celebrated school, Hazlitt Chase. She has simply written me an
itinerary of trains. I fear I shall have to leave here very early in
the morning, and you--my dear _petites_--will be deprived of your
governess for the entire day, for I shall not be home until midnight."
"Oh dear!" cried Nina. "We thought you were going to spend the night
away!"
She looked slightly disappointed and glanced at her sisters.
"Any little fun on?" asked Brenda, interpreting the glances between the
three according to her own sweet will.
"No, no--nothing in particular--nothing at all in particular; only we
thought you would have so much to tell us when you came back again."
"I shall have a good deal to tell you. Do you know; that my wonderful
young sister is to be Helen of Troy?"
"Whoever is she?" yawned Fanchon.
"Never heard of her, and never want to," cried Nina.
"Is she one of the dead-and-gones?" exclaimed Josephine. "I hate all
dead-and-gones, don't you, girls?"
"Yes--loathe them!" exclaimed the other sisters.
Brenda laughed.
"Look here," she said. "I must have a special dress, and a very, very
pretty one to go to Hazlitt Chase. I was thinking of getting a pale
blue silk--"
"Blue--silk!" exclaimed all three.
"Silk, Brenda? But surely your money--I mean your salary, poor darling,
doesn't run to that!" cried Nina, who had a more caressing way than her
sisters.
"Whether my salary runs to it or not, I mean to get it," said Brenda--"a
very pale shade and plenty of white lace with it, and a white lace
scarf, such as is worn so much now, on my shoulders. Ah, your governess
will look one of the prettiest girls at the fete, and won't you be
pleased, _mes enfants_?"
Brenda scarcely knew a word of French, but was fond of interlarding her
conversation with a few simple sentences. These had an excellent effect
as far as the Reverend Josiah was concerned, but the girls had no
respect for them, being well aware of the shallowness of their darling
Brenda's pretensions with regard to the French tongue.
"Well," said Nina--"and how are you going to get the dress?"
"I am going now--in a few minutes--to see your father, and will ask him
to let us have the pony and trap. Then we can all drive to Rocheford,
where there is a very good draper's shop. There I will buy a silk and
get Madame Declasse, in the High Street, to make it for me in time."
"But father won't know you in blue silk."
"I don't want him to. Do you suppose, for a minute, you little geese,
that I am going to tell him it is on my account I want the pony and
trap? Is it likely he would accede to the wishes of a poor little
governess? Not I, _mes enfants_--not I. You three dear things are to
be the innocent cause of our drive to Rocheford. Don't you suppose that
you want any cotton frocks for the seaside?"
"Oh, yes--yes!" said Nina, "we want frocks, but not cotton ones."
"Muslins are quite as cheap," said Brenda. "I shall call them cotton to
your father, and will buy muslin dresses for you--a pale pink muslin
each--how will they look, _cheries_?"
"Sweet, sweet!" said Josephine.
"Entrancing!" exclaimed Nina; while Fanchon smacked her lips in
anticipation of her own appearance in pink muslin.
Now Brenda knew quite well that these sandy-haired young people with
freckled faces and flat features would by no means look their best in
pink, be it muslin or cotton, but as she meant them to be foils to
herself, she decided to leave them in crass ignorance on this point.
The very name, pink muslin, had a delicious sound, and, as there was
little time to waste, she told the girls that she would excuse lessons
that morning and go upstairs to the school-room to make some mental
calculations. Then, having estimated the exact amount of money which
the different dresses would cost, she would invade the Reverend Josiah
at the hour named.
That good man was busy preparing his sermon when Brenda's gentle but
distinct knock was heard at the door.
"I am so sorry to disturb you, sir," she said on entering, and she
dropped the prettiest imaginable little curtsey. It was quite
old-fashioned, and delighted the rector.
"Please don't apologise, Miss Carlton," he said. "You want to speak to
me, and I am prepared to listen. What is it all about? I hope my dear
girl is not dissatisfied in any way. I know your life here must be a
little--a little--dull; but I trust that you are not thinking of leaving
us."
"Leaving you--my dear kind sir?" replied Brenda. "Far indeed are such
ideas from my thoughts. I am nothing but a dependent, and lonely at
that. Dear Mr Amberley, have I not heard you talk of your sweet
children as orphans? Well, am I not an orphan, too?"
"Alas--that it should be the case!" said Mr Amberley.
"It is the case. My darling sister and I were left without parents when
she was a very little child and I was a young girl. She has been
fortunate enough to be admitted into one of the best schools anywhere in
this part of England, or indeed, I may say in England at all. I allude
to Hazlitt Chase. You must have heard of the name, sir."
"Hazlitt Chase?" said Mr Amberley. "Of course I know the name. Lady
Sophia L'Estrange has two daughters there--Mary and Juliet. Sweet young
girls. Lady Sophia lives about four miles from here. I had not the
slightest idea that you had a sister at such a distinguished school,
Miss Carlton."
"I have that privilege," said Brenda, dropping her eyelids so that her
long, curly, black eyelashes could rest in the most becoming manner
against her peach-bloomy cheeks.
The rector looked at her with admiration.
"She certainly is a very sweet creature," he thought.
"What is the name of your sister?" he asked, after a moment's pause.
"She is called Penelope."
"How quaint and old-fashioned!"
"She is about to take a somewhat old-fashioned part," continued Brenda.
"I don't pretend to know the old stories as I ought to; you, sir, who
are such a good Greek scholar, must have heard of the character of Helen
of Troy."
"Beautiful Helen!" whispered Mr Amberley, under his breath.
"My sister is to take part in some tableaux which Mrs Hazlitt is
presenting of Tennyson's `Dream of Fair Women.' She wants me to see it,
and I am anxious to go. I think that if I leave here by an early train,
I can spend the greater part of the day at Hazlitt Chase and return here
soon after midnight."
"That will be a late hour to ask the servants to sit up."
"But if you will entrust me with a latch-key--"
"No, no, my dear girl: I will sit up for you myself with pleasure. Of
course you shall go."
"Thank you," said Brenda: "you are more than kind." She fidgeted a
little, then continued: "It will be a very gay party, and people from
many parts of England will assemble there to witness the different
events of the day. Tennyson's `Dream of Fair Women' is, I believe, to
take the most distinguished place in the day's proceedings and, in
short, sir--I want to be suitably dressed."
"Of course--of course," said Mr Amberley, looking a little confused, as
he always was when the subject of money was even approached. "Eh--a
neat cotton, eh?"
"Well, sir--it must be something rather better on this occasion; but if
I might ask for my quarter's salary, I have no doubt I can manage."
"My poor, dear girl! have I forgotten it? How long is it due?"
"It won't be due for a fortnight, sir; but I thought, under the
circumstances, that you might--I mean that you would be so kind--"
"You shall have a cheque immediately. Let me see--your salary is thirty
pounds a year, that means seven pounds ten a quarter. I will write you
a cheque for the amount; you can cash it at the bank. Get a pretty
cool-looking cotton, my dear Miss Carlton--something with rosebuds on
it: you are--so like a rosebud yourself."
"One minute please, sir. I cannot get the sort of dress I want at
Harroway. I must go to Rocheford to make my purchase and I think it
would be a good opportunity to get the girls' dresses for the seaside at
the same time."
"Oh dear, dear, dear!" said Mr Amberley. "Haven't they got enough
dresses from last year?"
"Oh, no!" said Brenda, shaking her head. "They are growing so quickly;
you quite forget that."
"I only know that my funds are very low and that there are a great many
sick people in the parish," said the rector.
"Still your children must be clothed," said Brenda, putting on a severe
air. "You have taken lodgings for them at the sea, and I can't walk
about with girls who are not presentable. I would rather, painful as it
seems, resign my post--though of course I don't really mean to do it,
but--"
The rector looked really terrified.
"You must not neglect my poor orphans! What would my children do
without you? But what is necessary? What do you think each will
require?"
"I can manage with three pounds for each: that is, nine pounds for the
three and seven pounds ten for myself. I know it seems a great deal of
money, but you cannot imagine how careful I will be."
"I am sure--I am certain you will."
Mr Amberley drew a cheque for the amount. He could not help sighing
more than once as he did so. It represented a very large sum to him,
and would preclude the possibility of his taking any holiday himself;
for little Joe Hoskins and Mary Miller must go to the seaside at any
cost. Nevertheless, the picture of his home without Brenda Carlton, and
his three orphans neglected and forsaken, was greater than his patience
could abide; and he made up his mind to do what Brenda wished, let the
consequences be what they might. She had her way also with regard to
the horse and trap and returned to her pupils with a cheque in her hand
for sixteen pounds ten and a most triumphant expression on her pretty
face.
Not the most remote idea had she of spending three pounds on each girl;
but she could get them a flimsy muslin each, some brown shoes to wear on
the sands, and a cheap hat for each sandy-covered head, which would
delight their small minds. The rest of the money would be her own.
Thus she would be able to make herself look distinguished, and yet not
touch the twenty pounds which Penelope had sent her from school.
"Hurrah!" she cried, as she joined her pupils. "The good little papa
has come up to the scratch. You shall have your pink muslins, and hats,
and gloves, and shoes besides. Only the muslins must be made at home,
and I myself will trim the hats. Now then--prepare for a happy holiday.
The pony trap will be at the door by twelve o'clock. Nina, run to
cook, and tell her to make up some sandwiches for us and a bottle of
lemonade. We need not spend our precious fairings at the confectioner's
if we take home-made provisions with us."
Nina, in rapture at the happy time which she felt was before her, flew
off to obey Brenda's behests and, sharp at twelve, the little party left
the old rectory and drove down through the shady village street.
Brenda drove. She was a capital whip, and never looked better than when
she was so employed. More than one person turned to gaze with
admiration at the handsome showy girl, and her heart swelled within her
with pride and satisfaction as she noticed this fact. At the bank she
changed the cheque, taking care that her pupils did not see the amount
which swelled her little purse.
They arrived at Rocheford in about an hour, and there a silk of the
palest shade of blue was chosen with soft French lace for trimming.
Nina was absolutely open-mouthed with admiration as she saw the
exquisite fabric being told off in yards by the shopman. After the
dress was bought, Brenda purchased very pretty pink muslins for her
pupils, and white hats which she meant to trim with cheap white muslin.
They then went to a shoemaker's where they got shoes, and to another
shop for gloves, and finally to interview that modiste of great fame, as
Madame Declasse described herself. But here disappointment awaited the
little girls, for Brenda insisted on entering the apartment all alone.
"You, Fanchon," she said, "must hold the pony's reins. Don't hold them
too tight--just like this; see, _mon enfant_--do attend to my
directions. Now then, I shan't be very long."
"But may not two of us come with you?" asked Josephine. "We should love
to see the pretty things in Madame Declasse's show-room."
"No, no; I must see her alone; she will do it cheaper for me if I am
alone."
Brenda skipped away, and the girls were left in charge of the dull,
over-worked little pony with the western sun beating down upon them.
They had certainly passed an exciting day, but, on the whole, they were
not quite satisfied. There was a mutinous feeling in each small breast
which only needed the match of suspicion to set it on fire. It was Nina
who, in the most casual voice, applied that match.
"I am looking at myself," she said, "in the mirror let into the pony
trap just facing us; and I am awfully red."
"Of course you are, Nina," laughed both her sisters.
"My face is red," continued Nina, "and so is my hair; and my eyes are
not at all big. Do you think I am really pretty, or am I ugly?"
She gave an anxious glance at Josephine and Fanchon.
"Ugly--of course," laughed Fanchon.
"Very ugly--a little fright," said Josephine.
"Then if I am a fright," said Nina, becoming a more vivid crimson, "so
are you, too, for you are red also, and your hair is sandy, and you have
very small eyes."
"Oh, do shut up," said Fanchon.
Nina turned restlessly on her hot seat. "I wish I was like Brenda," she
said, after a minute's pause.
"Well, you are not, and all the wishing in the world won't make you so,"
was Josephine's answer.
"I suppose she is quite beautiful," said Fanchon, with a sigh.
"Oh, yes--there isn't a doubt of it," continued Nina. "How the men do
stare at her."
"It's very rude of men to stare," said Josephine. "It is not at all to
be admired."
"But Brenda likes it, all the same," said Nina. "I know she does, for
she nudges me sometimes as we are on the way to church. What a long
time she is with Madame Declasse!"
"Nina," said Fanchon, "if you don't sit still, you will startle Rob, and
he may take it into his head to run away."
"Rob run away! He knows better," answered Nina. "Why, he has hardly a
kick in him--poor old dear! You wouldn't run away, would you, Rob?"
Rob flicked his ears, and gave a slight movement to his tail. This he
considered sufficient answer to Nina's tender enquiry.
"I wish Brenda was not quite so long," she said. "Why, of course she is
a long time. She has got to have her lovely blue silk made up. Fancy
Brenda in silk! How astonished father will be! Silk is the dream of
his life. He said when he married mother, she wore silk. She never,
never wore it since--he said--she could not afford it, only very rich
people could. There was a time when I thought of keeping silkworms, and
winding off the silk from the cocoons until I had enough to make a
dress; but Brenda laughed me out of that."
"Well--she's got her deserts. She must have spent a lot of money on the
dress," said Fanchon.
"She didn't spend much on ours, that I know," said Nina. "Those pink
muslins were only sixpence three farthings the yard, and she wouldn't
get an extra yard for me, although I did so want mine to have little
flounces--I think little flounces are so stylish. Oh dear, dear! I
wish she would come!"
Here Nina took up a carefully folded parcel which contained the material
for the girls' pink muslin dresses.
"Let's look at it," she said--"let's see it in the broad light. It'll
be something to amuse us."
"Oh, but we never can pack it up again," exclaimed Josephine.
"Have you got your pocket knife with you, Fanchon?" asked Nina.
Fanchon declared that she had.
"Well, give it to me, and I will cut a wee hole in the paper, just
enough for us to see our darling gowns."
This was too fascinating a proposal to be lightly refused, and in the
end the girls had removed enough of the brown paper wrapping to disclose
a certain portion of the delicate pink muslin which lay folded beneath.
"I wonder now," said Nina--she raised her flushed face and looked at her
red little person in the tiny square of glass--"I wonder why she makes
us wear pink. Do you think, Fanchon--do you think, Josephine, that it
suits us?"
The two elder girls were quite silent, but a horrified expression crept
over Fanchon's face. She was older than the others, and had once heard
it said that a girl with red hair--however pretty she might be--ought
not to wear pink. A sense of revolt filled her soul.
"Why don't you speak?" said Nina.
"I--I am thinking," she said, crossly. "Don't worry me."
She was thinking to good purpose. The other two seemed to divine her
thoughts. They all sat silent and moody.
"I shall do a sum in arithmetic to-night," thought Josephine. "I know
exactly how many yards of that horrid pink muslin she bought and what
the hats cost, and those little cheap shoes, and those gloves."
But Josephine did not say the words aloud. After a little time Nina
said:
"I saw a quantity of gold in Brenda's purse. It seems so odd that she
should spend a lot of father's money on herself, and so very, very
little on us--doesn't it? I don't understand it--do you, girls?"
But before the girls could reply, Brenda, looking fresh and captivating,
as usual, appeared by their side.
"Now, then,"--she said--"home we go. Oh, I am glad to get out of this
heat. I think we'll have supper in the garden to-night. It will be
lovely under the mulberry tree. What do you say, _petites_? What dear,
pretty little darlings you are!"
But the pretty little darlings were not in the best of tempers, and
Brenda had some trouble in getting them back to good humour. She
herself was in excellent spirits, for she had employed Madame Declasse
not only to make the dress in a way so sweet as to take the hearts of
all who saw her by storm, but was she not also to make her a long white
serge dust coat, very fashionable looking and very, very smart, and a
little white hat, which would exactly finish off the pale blue costume?
and was not Madame Declasse to supply a parasol and gloves, all suited
to that distinguished looking young lady, Miss Brenda Carlton?
But these small matters Brenda kept to herself. It would never do for
the sandy-haired daughters of the Reverend Josiah Amberley to know about
them. Her object was to humour them to the very top of their bent until
she got them away with her to the seaside, and then--behold! what twenty
pounds still quite unspent might not achieve! For the blue silk dress
was paid for, and Madame Declasse would not charge for the making up,
nor for the parasol, nor the white serge coat, nor the pretty white hat,
for a long, long time. It really did not matter to Madame when her
little bills were paid. She was quite willing and ready to accommodate
her customers.
As the little party were driving in by the tumble-down gates, Nina,
however, made a remark. She raised her light blue eyes and looked full
at Brenda and said, in a tone of question and some alarm:
"Do you really, really think, Brenda, that pink muslin is the most
suitable sort of dress for red girls like us?"
"Of course she doesn't," said Fanchon.
Josephine was silent. Brenda looked hastily from one of her pupils to
the other.
"Listen," she said, "I have considered the subject of your toilettes
with the utmost care. Your good father can allow very little for your
clothes. He imagines that you will wear stout cotton dresses during
your sojourn at Marshlands-on-the-Sea, but I do not intend you to appear
in anything so _gauche_. I have, therefore, bought delicate muslin,
which will be made up to suit you. Of course pink muslin will suit you;
it is _the_ colour for blondes like yourselves."
"Blondes, are we?" said Nina--"I thought we were reds!"
"You little goose!" exclaimed Brenda, bending forward and kissing Nina
with affection. "Haven't you just the darlingest little face, and who
loves you if your own Brenda does not? But talk to your father on the
subject if you wish, and I will change the pink muslins for cottons
to-morrow--I can easily do so."
"Oh, no--no," said Fanchon.
Josephine shut her lips. Nina nestled up to her governess in an ecstasy
of love and affection. If indeed she was a blonde--that lovely word--
why, the pink muslin _must_ suit her!