Cousin Greta was as good or as bad as her word; Joey wasn't quite sure which way to look at it. On that first Sunday morning, while she, with the twenty other girls at Miss Lambton's table, was enjoying the Sunday luxury of late breakfast and hot sausages, a note was brought to Miss Lambton.
"Jocelyn Graham," she called.
Joey stood up.
"Miss Conyngham has sent to say that relations are coming to take you out. They will be here at 12.30. Go to the drawing-room when you come out of chapel."
"Yes, Miss Lambton."
Joey sat down, and went on with her sausages. She felt rather depressed; the only cheering part of the business was that by going out she would probably escape that unknown horror of saying her Collect, Epistle, and Gospel, and being questioned on them.
Noreen was sitting two places away. "What are they? Aunts, uncles, or what? Are they good for chocolates, or will they point out that those are still four shillings a pound, and schoolgirls should be thankful for bread and margarine!"
"I expect the relation is my Cousin Greta, and she always used to bring us chocolates," Joey answered.
"Don't eat them all on the way home. Think of your precious health, my che-ild," cried half a dozen imploring voices.
Joey could take chaff better now; besides, the antipathy of the Redlanders to her village school had died a natural and speedy death.