“You don’t know what fun I’m going to have, and there’s a great secret, too,” said Flossie. “Oh, by the way, it was good of you to give Nesta that sovereign. She was nearly mad about it. I never saw anybody in such a fix. But when you had given it to her she got into the best of humours. We had a right good time at the pastrycook’s, I can tell you. I never ate so many light cakes in the whole course of my life before. And we are going to have more fun, Nesta and I. By the way, I hope you’re not jealous.”
“Jealous!” said Pen. “What about?”
“Of me and Nesta.”
Flossie giggled.
“No; I’m not jealous,” said Pen. “I don’t quite understand.”
“I should think it was pretty easy to understand. Nesta and me—we’ve always been the primest friends—no husband and wife could love each other better than we do. But then you stepped in, and for a time I thought there was going to be a rift in the lute,”—Flossie was very fond of mixed metaphors,—“I really thought there was; but when Nesta saw us both in our true lights, she, of course, would never give me up just because you are the richest.”
“I should hope not,” said Pen. “It would be contemptible. But here we are at the Aldworths’. I am going in too.”
“Are you? You don’t want Nesta, I hope?”
“No; I don’t care who I see. I just want a sheet of paper and a pen and some ink. I have a stamp in my pocket.”
“Well, come along; I know the way better than you do,” said Flossie.