“They have an enormous bulge over us, Cis. You see, they get to know men. Our information is second-hand. Lily”—that happened to be the name of the second cousin—“has had a dozen boys on and off. She began when she was fifteen. She’s as straight as they make ’em, you know, but dead nuts on spooning.”
Cicely winced at this, although curiosity pricked her. Conscious that she needn’t ask for details, because Arabella always supplied them, she held her tongue. Arabella continued:
“Lily can make comparisons, weigh Tom against Dick, scrap both, and take on Bill. I call that true liberty. I don’t see why an intelligent girl, anxious to get the right sort of hubby, as, of course, we all are, shouldn’t be engaged half a dozen times.”
“Tiddy——!”
“That’s my idea. Probably Father, who is becoming rather rankly conservative since he was knighted, will put the kibosh on that, but how, I ask, can you know what a man is really like till he has kissed you?”
“What perfectly awful things you say!”
“All right! I’m a red poppy, and proud of it. You’re the wee crimson-tippit daisy. Be a daisy if you like. I’ll call you—Dais.”
“Tiddy, please don’t! I’ll try not to be a daisy. You do give one ideas. But kissing——! That is housemaidy, if you like.” She frowned and then quoted triumphantly: “ ‘Her lips are common as the stairs.’ Ugh!”
Arabella laughed. Perhaps she wanted to shock a too aristocratic friend.
“Oh, well, Lily thinks no more of that than you do of brushing your teeth.”