“Your mother tells you?” My tone indicated great surprise: her mother is the vicar’s wife, and the alleged counsel seemed unpastoral.
“Yes—and it’s quite right too,” Prudence maintained. “You know how poor we are. And there are eight of us!”
“Five and three?”
“Yes: Johnny at Oxford, Dick at school, and Clarence to go soon! And the girls—you know what girls cost, anyhow!”
“They vary, I suppose?”
“Just you talk to mamma about that!”
That didn’t seem urgent. “Another time,” I murmured, “I shall be pleased to exchange impressions.”
I don’t think Prudence heard. She was looking very thoughtful, a minute wrinkle ornamenting her brow.
“The boys must have their education; the girls must have justice done to them.”
“To be sure! And so——?”