"O, no more I have!"
"And there are four pairs of your stockings that want darning."
"Now, Issy,—you dear creature—"
"Yes, you can always coax when you want something done. But mother particularly wishes you to get into the way of mending your own clothes."
"I don't mind patches. It's that horrible darning that I hate."
"Only, if mother wishes—"
"Yes, of course—" rather fretfully. "But I've got such a lot to do this week. Won't you, won't you,—just for once, Issy?"
Isabel stood looking down with puzzled eyes on the small "kitten-like" creature, lounging in the bow-window. As Mervyn had told Dorothea Tracy, Dolly Erskine was "sure to be admired." She was so slight, and her skin was so fair, her big eyes were so blue and her little hands were so graceful, while the masses of golden hair which fell down her back and over her shoulders were so abundant, that despite the possession of a "real undeniable snub nose," Dolly could not but be counted "pretty." At this moment, however, the fair brow was puckered, and the rosy lips had a distinct pout.
"So much to do! Dolly!"
"Well, I have. Tennis every single afternoon this week; and—"