"That's the worst of early Victorian parents," said this girl with a bright cheerful giggle. "One can't even talk the vernacular nowadays."
She made an unexpected lunge at Jean.
"Oh," cried Jean, "I must answer that telegram. Say I'm an idiot, Mabel, and that I've only had toothache."
Mabel for once performed the duties of an elder sister in a grim manner.
"Am an idiot," she wrote, "only had toothache an hour. Fencing match on, forgive hurry. Jean."
She read it out to the fencers.
"Oh, I say," said Jean with visible chagrin, "you are a little beggar, Mabel."
"Send it," cried the fencing girl. "One must be laughed at now and again--it's good for one. Besides, you can't be both a semi-neurotic invalid and a good fencer. Better give up the neurotic habit."
Jean stepped back in derision.
"I'm not neurotic," she affirmed.