"I am sure she is."
I did not hear the rest of the conference; it was brief, and ended by one of the Misses Clapperton—-I think it was Mary, but I am not quite sure, for in turning about they had, as it were, mingled—asking me if I should not like to become acquainted with my future companions; on my replying "Yes," she took me by the hand, and led me out into a green garden, all lawn and gravel path, where I was formally introduced to, and left alone with, the two Misses Brook.
Jane and Fanny Brook were orphan sisters of fourteen and fifteen; fine, fresh, romping girls, with crisp black hair, cheeks like roses, and ivory teeth. They looked as demure as nuns whilst Miss Clapperton was by, but no sooner was her back turned than they began to whisper and giggle. Then suddenly addressing me as I stood by them, feeling silent and lonely, Jane said—
"Will you run?"
"I never run; I cannot."
"Try," observed Fanny.
They caught me between them and whirled me off, but they were soon obliged to pause. I had stopped short, all out of breath.
"I told you I could not run," I said, a little offended at their free manner.
"Poor little thing!" compassionately exclaimed Jane.
"Will you race?" asked her sister.