"We always fill the house up at holiday times. My brothers often bring their friends home," said Nat.
She went towards the cupboard, then suddenly stopped half-way, as if struck by an entirely new idea. She turned and came slowly back towards Monica, conflicting expressions chasing each other across her face.
"What's up?" asked Monica. "Garter busted?"
Nat ignored the question; in fact, she did not seem to hear it.
"Don't tell me I'm more of a blockhead than I already knew I was," she said slowly. "Look here, Monica, for whose benefit was all that stuff put on the walls, yours or mine?"
"What bee have you got in your bonnet now?"
"Please answer my question," said Nat.
Monica made no reply, only put her head on one side and twinkled in her impish, Puck-like way.
"You need not answer," Nat continued. "You've given yourself away. I remember telling you that one of my three ambitions was—not to be bottom of the form. Only you'd already said you intended to be top. Didn't you mean it?"
Monica burst out laughing.