“Is that really so?” she answered. “I ought to be just mad with you, but I’m not. Before the year is out no one will compare Audrey and me. I shall be much, much the finest lady—much, much the grandest. I vow it; I declare it; I will do it; and you, Sylvia, shall help me.”
“Oh, I have no objection,” said Sylvia. “I am very glad indeed that you will want my help, and I am sure you are heartily welcome.”
Evelyn looked full up at Sylvia. Jasper had left the two girls together. The only light in the room now was the firelight, for the short winter day was drawing to an end.
“You, I suppose,” said Evelyn, “are a lady although you do wear such a shabby dress and you suffer so terribly from hunger?”
“How do you know?” asked Sylvia.
“First, because you are not afraid of anything; and second, because you are graceful and, although you are so very queer, your voice has a gentle sound. You are a lady by birth, are you not?”
“Yes,” said Sylvia simply. She neither added to the word not took from it. She became very silent and thoughtful.
“Why do you live in such a funny way? Why are you not educated like other girls? And why will you tell me nothing about your home?”
“I have nothing to tell. My father and I came to live at The Priory three months ago. He does not care for society, and he does not wish me to leave him.”
“And you are poor?”