“What you doing?” said Miriam quietly shutting the door behind her and flushing with pleasure.
Harriett hopped more energetically. The blaze from the western window caught the paste stone in the tortoise-shell comb crowning her little high twist of hair and the prisms of the lustres standing behind her on the white marble mantelpiece.
“What you doing, booby?”
“Old conservatory,” panted Harriett.
Miriam looked vaguely down the length of the long room to where the conservatory doors stood wide open. As she gazed at the wet tiling Harriett ceased hopping and kicked her delicately. “Well, gooby?”
Miriam grinned.
“You’ve got it. I knew you would. The Misses Perne have engaged Miss Miriam Henderson as resident teacher for the junior school.”
“Oh yes, I’ve got it,” smiled Miriam. “But don’t let’s talk about that. It’s just an old school, a house. I don’t know a bit what it’ll be like. I’ve got three bally blooming weeks. Don’t let’s talk about it.”
“Awri.”