“You, indeed!” said Annie, as she brushed out her long hair and put it up in the most fashionable style—“you, with your Nesta and your Flossie Griffiths.”
“With my what?” said Penelope—“My Flossie?”
“Yes, with that common girl. Half of us saw you yesterday, walking with Nesta. Really, it is too bad of her to come on our festive occasions in such a shabby dress.”
“Well, that has nothing to do with Jim. Now, I’m going down to breakfast,” said Pen.
But she felt a little nervous as she entered the breakfast room. Jim had given her to understand that he would meet her there, and before the rest of the party came down, he would get her to confide in their father. But Mr Carter, more red than usual in the face, and slightly disturbed in his mind, for he wondered if he had done right to put such confidence in his young son, was sitting alone at the breakfast table. He shouted to Penelope when he saw her.
“Come along, Lazybones, and pour out my coffee for me.”
She obeyed; then she said, looking up and speaking, in spite of herself, a trifle uneasily:
“Where’s Jim?”
“What do you want to know about Jim?” said her father, in some irritation. He had dreaded this inquiry, but had not thought it would come from little Shallow-pates, as he called his youngest daughter. However, he must account for Jim’s absence in some sort of fashion.
“You won’t see Jim for two or three days,” he said. “Not for two or three days,” said Penelope, and her small, round childish face looked almost haggard. “You mean that he won’t be home before Saturday?”