"Brenda, what should I do without you!" and Brenda flew to Florence,
flung her arms round her neck and burst into tears.
"Why, what is it?" said the younger and taller sister of the two.
"I don't know," said Brenda.
She stopped crying almost immediately, mopped her eyes and smiled. Then
she said, abruptly--
"I don't think I like Mrs Fortescue."
"That is wrong of you, Brenda. She has always been good to us."
"I know it is wrong of me," said Brenda, "not to like her, but all the
same, I don't. I was never sure about it till to-night. Now I am
practically certain I don't like her."
"But why?" said Florence. "Is it because she dyes her hair?"
"That is one thing," said Brenda. "The character of the woman who dyes
her hair must be objectionable to me. I don't want her to have anything
to do with my future. I shall tell Mr Timmins so to-morrow."
"Oh, will you really? She will be so terribly disappointed."
"I can't help it," said Brenda.
Florence had seated herself in a very comfortable easy-chair and Brenda
was kneeling at her feet.
"You see," she said solemnly, "we have only one life in this world--one
life and one youth, and I don't want mine to be commonplace. I think
Mrs Fortescue would make it so. I can stand her for four weeks at
Christmas; I can even endure her for seven weeks in the summer. But
always! No, Flo, no: I couldn't endure her always, could you?"
"Oh," said Florence with a laugh, "I mean to get married very soon and
have done with her. She will be quite useful until I am married. Why--
how shocked you look, Brenda!"
"You are only eighteen; how can you think of such a thing as getting
married?" said Brenda.
Florence laughed and stroked her sister's hair.
"I think of it very often," she said, "almost every day; in fact, it is
the only thing before me. I mean to marry a rich and great man."
"But you must love him," said Brenda.
"I dare say I shall be able to manage that too," cried Florence.