This was not at all the way in which she had planned to make her announcements. She had thought that her prizes would impress Barbara very much, and she had foreseen a sort of small ceremony of display when she would bring out the big red-and-gilt book. But Barbara only nodded, and presently said:
"Cedric has got quantities of prizes: the headmaster wrote and told father that he was a 'boy of marked abilities and remarkable power of concentration,' and father is going to give him a whole sovereign, but that's because he made his century."
"When will he be here?"
"Next week. His holidays begin on Tuesday and he's got a whole fortnight longer than we have."
"We?" asked Alex coldly. "How can you have holidays? You're not at school."
"I have lessons," cried Barbara angrily. "You know I have, and Ma'moiselle is going to give me a prize for writing, and a prize for history, and a prize for application. So there!"
"Prizes!" said Alex scornfully. "When you're all by yourself! I never heard such nonsense."
She no longer felt wretched and subdued, but full of irritation at Barbara's conceit and absorption in herself.
"It's not nonsense!"
"It is. If you'd been at school you'd know it was."