"My dear, don't talk to me about being grown up. You act precisely like a child of ten. What in the world is the matter?"
"Nothing, oh nothing; that is, almost nothing. Only look and you will laugh too."
Glancing where Martine pointed, Brenda saw something really amusing. Before a pier-glass in the hall a sallow girl with glossy black hair piled high on her head was standing. She wore a pink satin gown that heightened her sallowness. It was cut square in the neck, and her elbow sleeves displayed a pair of skinny arms.
"Who is she?" whispered Martine, recovering her breath.
"Why, that, oh that is Angelina."
Martine, fascinated by the vision in the glass, continued to watch the strange little figure, bowing, gesticulating, turning now to this side now to that, while her lips moved as if she were talking to herself.
"Who is Angelina?" asked Martine.
"Oh, Angelina, don't you know her? She is to help me for a week while Maggie is away taking care of her sick aunt."
"Do you call that 'helping'?" and again Martine pointed toward the pier-glass.
"She did not hear me come in; she thought I would ring," replied Brenda. "She thinks I am still downtown. She was to go to the door and has been waiting to hear me ring."