Penelope was alarmed. She knew that if this speech reached her father’s ears he would be seriously displeased with her.
“I didn’t mean that, of course, Nesta, you know I didn’t I like you for yourself, and of course you are quite a lady. All the same you oughtn’t to have come here now and—and force yourself on us.”
“Well, I’ll go if you give me what I have come for.”
“What is that?”
They were now approaching the house by a side entrance.
“You needn’t be bothered about your tea, for I don’t want it,” said Nesta. “I’m choking with thirst, but I don’t want your tea—you who have said I’m not a lady. As to Flossie, she doesn’t want your tea either. We’d rather choke than have it. There’s a shop in the High Street where we can get ginger beer and chocolates. The ginger beer will go pop and we’ll enjoy ourselves. It’s fifty times nicer than your horrid tea. But I’ll tell you what I do want—my yellow-boy.”
“Your what?” said Penelope, looking at her in bewilderment.
“My beautiful, precious, darling twenty shillings. Only they must be given me in gold of the realm.”
“Nesta, what do you mean? Your twenty shillings!”
“Come,” said Nesta, “that’s all very fine. But did you, or did you not make a bet with me?”