"Has she grown?" asked Barbara jealously. She knew that grown-up people were always, for some mysterious reason, pleased when one had "grown."
"Grown! Yes, and got her back bent like a bow," said Nurse vigorously. "An hour on the backboard's what you'll do every day, and bed at seven o'clock tonight. Have they been giving you enough to eat?"
"Of course," said Alex, tossing her head.
She did not like the convent when she was there, but a contradictory instinct always made her when at home uphold it violently, as a privileged spot to which she alone had access.
"You look half-starved, to me," Nurse said unbelievingly.
Nothing would ever have persuaded her of what was, in fact, the truth, that Alex received more abundant, more wholesome, and infinitely better cooked food in Belgium than in London.
Barbara sat on the end of the sofa, swinging her legs and fidgetting with the tassel of the blind-cord.
"Have you brought back any prizes, Alex?" she enquired negligently.
And Alex replied with an equal air of indifference:
"One for composition, and I've got a certificate of proficiency for music."