“She’s so eaten up with pride,” said Molly, “talking about her Angela St. Just and her Hurst Castle—snobbish, I call it, don’t you, Ethel?”
“I don’t know that I shouldn’t like a little bit of it myself,” replied Ethel. “You should hear how the people talk of her in the town. They don’t think anything at all of the Carters, I can tell you.”
“You have never explained what happened during your visit yesterday,” said Molly.
Marcia was passing the window. She looked in.
“It’s time you went to mother, Ethel,” she said.
Ethel rose with a crimson face.
“Hateful old prig!” she said.
“There, girls, I can’t tell you now. I’m in for a jolly time, and you’ll be amusing yourselves in the garden, and she’ll amuse herself.”
“Well, you can think of me to-morrow,” said Nesta, “giving up my walk with Florrie Griffiths. That’s what I call hard, and you and Ethel will have a jolly afternoon all to yourselves, and a jolly morning to-morrow. It’s I who am to be pitied. I don’t think I can stand it. I think I’ll run away.”
“Don’t be a goose, Netty. You know you’ll have to bear the burden as well as Miss Mule Selfish.”