"Tell me the truth, Belle, wouldn't you think me sixteen years old—if you didn't know," she cried to her friend, who could hardly conceal her mirth at Brenda's changed aspect.
"I don't—why, yes, of course," as she saw a frown stealing across Brenda's face.
Brenda strode around the room with all the dignity she could command, her pretty face somewhat flushed by her exertions in giving her hair just the right touch. As a matter of fact she looked rather odd, but Belle did not dare tell her that her skirt hung unevenly, and that two or three short locks of her hair stood out almost straight behind.
"Hark, I believe they've come," Brenda exclaimed.
Certainly there was a noise in the hall below.
"Where's Brenda?" she heard her mother call.
"Well, I suppose we'll have to go down," she said reluctantly to Belle, and the two girls slowly descended the stairs.