'Yes; you certainly spoke loud enough.'
Mrs. De Jobbyns frowned. She would have liked her to add 'ma'am,' like any other paid dependant; but Alison, of course, never thought of such a thing.
'You may withdraw now, Miss Cheyne,' said the lady, with an assumption of would-be dignity that sat rather absurdly on the whilome dispenser of glasses of gin and bitters and pints of stout at the bar of the 'Black Swan.'
'Oh, Miss Cheyne, I wonder when the wedding is to be!' exclaimed little Irene when Alison returned to the school-room.
'Whose wedding, dear?' she asked.
'Why, Vic.'s—don't you know she is going to be married to that rich military swell?'
'Oh, fie, Irene—you must not use such terms!'
'Why not? I heard cook call him so when she told the tablemaid, and said we two girls would be bridesmaids.'
Intent on a book she had procured—by the way, save photographic albums in which the De Jobbyns family were reproduced endlessly, there were no books in the house—Alison thought no more of the matter; but when evening was drawing on she heard the soft rustle of a long silken skirt, as Miss De Jobbyns, arrayed for conquest, swept in, wearing a really beautiful costume of dark blue velvet and light blue silk, smothered with cream-tinted lace.
'He is coming—he is coming to dinner—mamma got him to promise that he would, at last!' exclaimed the young lady, pirouetting about in the extravagance of her joy. 'Tell me how you like my dress?'