Twice a year Posy paid a ceremonial visit to Mrs. Biddlecombe. The old lady was very fond of her, although she sniffed at her upbringing. Posy, indeed, had won a moral victory during her first visit, shortly after the Quinneys moved to London. At the end of three days Mrs. Biddlecombe had said majestically to the child:
"I hope you're enjoying yourself, my dear!"
"I'm not," said Posy, with shocking candour.
"Why not?" demanded the astonished grandmother.
"Because you've been so wonnerful peevish."
"Bless my soul, what next! Well, well, you are a pert little maid, but I must try to be more agreeable."
Posy eyed her reflectively.
"I dare say," she murmured, "that I should be wonnerful peevish too, if I was very, very old."
Quinney, against Susan's wishes and protests, insisted that the child should be brought up "as a little princess." She was given many so-called advantages. She was taught to play the piano indifferently well; she danced beautifully; she could chatter French, and was now struggling with German.
"Spare no expense," said Quinney magnificently.