"Then she is out of it," I said.
"Yes; and mother wanted me to be out too, so as to be a companion to Maggie. But of course I could not. Why, I am not eighteen for another two months, and Maggie has gone on till her nineteenth birthday is over. Father always promised that I should do the same. I am to pay calls sometimes with Maggie, while mother and Nellie are away. That is bad enough, for I hate calls. Don't you?"
"Not if they come in the way of my duty," I said.
"Are calls ever a duty?" asked Thyrza. "It always seems to me such a sham, going and hoping to find everybody out."
"Is that always a necessary state of things?"
"I don't know," she said. "Not with everybody, but with me. Then there is late dinner at seven, and schoolroom supper at half-past seven. When we are quite alone, all we elder ones down to Denham dine with father, and so will you, because mother settled it so. Miss Jackson never would. She said late dinners disagreed with her. I believe she really was afraid of Millie; for it was only since Millie came that she said so. But you are mother's friend, and differences are to be made. Millie—Miss Millington, I mean,—is awfully jealous of you, because she always has her supper in the schoolroom with the children."
"Thyrza, you must not try to set me against Miss Millington," I said gravely.
"There's no need. You will see for yourself. Besides—" after a pause,—"it is only I who dislike Millie. The others are no end devoted to her, and so was Jackie,—Miss Jackson, I mean. We always called her Jackie. I am afraid it was rude, but she didn't mind. She never minded anything, so long as nobody was cross."
"I should like the schoolroom supper quite as much as the late dinner," I said.
"I like it much best of the two! But mother made a great fuss about that, and it will never do for you to say you don't wish it. Father would be desperately vexed—hurt, I mean! I advise you just to take everything as a matter of course. You will soon learn all the ins and outs of the house."