‘Have you got a nurse?’ asked Angela, who had laughed louder than any one.
‘No,’ said Barbara, simply, not seeing that this too was meant to be a joke. ‘She left, two years ago.’
‘Well, you ought to have one,’ retorted Jean, brusquely. ‘She might teach you how to comb your hair.’
‘And let down your frock,’ added two or three voices together.
‘What’s the matter with my frock?’ asked Babs, opening her eyes. ‘It’s nearly two inches longer than any frock I ever had before.’
The laughter began afresh, and Barbara gave up trying to explain things. She was a little hurt, in reality, and was afraid of showing it; for it would never do, after being teased by five brothers all her life, to be ruffled by the laughter of a few schoolgirls. All the same, there was something in their way of laughing at her that hurt, and she did not care to provoke them into doing it any more.
The loud ringing of a bell brought her a sudden respite, by clearing the room of her tormentors. They poured hastily out of two large doors, that slid back in the wall and revealed another square hall beyond, similar to the one at the front of the house. The wide staircase up which the girls were trooping evidently led to their bedrooms, for Barbara, left deserted and forgotten in the playroom, could hear them, directly afterwards, moving about overhead. As she waited there alone, wondering what she was supposed to do next, Jean Murray came hurrying back into the room and looked round for her.
‘Oh, bother!’ she said, in her ungracious manner; ‘what a nuisance you are! I wish you’d do things without waiting to be told.’
Babs explained submissively that she was quite ready to do things if she only knew what to do; but Jean still grumbled.
‘Any one with any sense would know,’ she declared, hastening out of the door again as she spoke. When she was half-way across the hall, she shouted, without looking back, ‘Can’t you come along? There’s only a quarter of an hour to dress for supper.’