“Sauce or jam with it?”
“Sauce or jam!” said the woman, in tones of disgust. “Neither on ’em, but sugar and a bit o’ butter; and think yourselves lucky to get that. New dresses, indeed! It’s shameful; and us in the kitchen half-starved!”
“Well, we can’t help it,” said Marie. “I’m sure we don’t live any too well.”
“No, you don’t,” said the woman, grinning. “But it does seem a shame to go spending money as they seem to mean to do on you two. I ’spose you’re going to be married, ain’t you?”
“I don’t know,” said Clotilde. “Are we?”
“There, don’t ask me. I don’t know nothing at all about it, and I shan’t speak a word. I only know what I heard them say.”
“Do tell us, Marky dear, there’s a dear, good old nursey, and we’ll do just as you tell us,” said Clotilde, in a wheedling way.
“You both make haste down, or you’ll both have double lessons to get off, so I tell you.”
“But tell us,” said Marie, “and we’ll both give you a kiss.”
“You keep your kisses for your rich husbands, my dears, and I hope you’ll like giving ’em—that’s all I can say. I told you so: there goes the bell.”