“Mind your own business, Florrie,” said Elsie, pushing past her.
She affected not to hear the single word that the servant flung at her back, but it made her wince.
In the bedroom she found Gladys already in bed, wide awake.
“Mother put us to bed. She was awfully cross, and she slapped Sonnie twice and me once.”
“What for?”
“Oh, because I whined, she said. And she slapped Sonnie when he told her about Dadda being so funny with you. You didn’t know we saw one day,” giggled Gladys.
“Saw what?”
“One day when Dadda kissed you and Sonnie and I saw, over the banisters, and we laughed, but you didn’t hear us.”
“You little viper!” muttered Elsie between her teeth. “I’d like to kill you, I would.”
Gladys alternately giggled and whined, and Elsie was quite unable to distinguish whether the child was really malicious or simply amused by something to which she attached no meaning.