These three children, in the afternoon in Easter week on which Amethyst was expected, had grouped themselves into the bow-window of the drawing-room, looking with their long hair, black legs, and fashionable frocks, like a contemporary picture in Punch.
“Dismal place this!” said Una, yawning and looking out at the garden.
“Oh,” said Kattern, as the next girl, Katherine, was usually called, “my lady will have all the old set here soon.”
They often called their mother “my lady,” after the manner of their half-brother and sister.
“Yes,” said Victoria, the youngest, in a slow, high-toned drawl. “It’s quite six weeks since we’ve seen Tony. He’ll be coming soon, and Frank Chichester, I dare say. Frank’ll give you a chance, Una.”
“Frank Chichester! I don’t value boys; they have no conversation. You and Kattern may pull caps for him.”
“Tory’s too rude,” said Kattern. “He never forgave her for saying, when he asked her to dance, that she must watch him to see how he moved.”
“I thought that was chic,” said Tory; “some men like it, and coax you.”
“He’s too young for it,” said the experienced Una; “not my style at all.”
“Ah, we know your style—dear Tony.”