“You are to go to tea in the schoolroom,” she said. “There are two or three other children there, and I hope you will be very good, Miss Sibyl, and not spoil this beautiful frock.”
It was a white cashmere frock, very much embroidered and surrounded by little frills and soft laces, and, while absolutely simple and quite suited to the little girl, was really a wonder of expense and art.
“It’s a beautiful dress,” she said; “you are wearing money now.”
“Money,” said Sibyl, “what do you mean?”
“This frock is money; you look very nice in it. Be sure, now, you don’t spot it. It would be wicked, just as if you were throwing sovereigns into the fire.”
“I don’t understand,” said Sibyl; “I wish it wasn’t a grand frock. Did you bring any of my common, common frocks, nursie?”
“I should think not, indeed. Your fine lady mother would be angry if she saw you looking a show.”
“If you speak again in that tone of my mother I’ll slap you,” said Sibyl.
“Highty-tighty!” said the nurse; “your spirit is almost past bearing. You need to be broke in.”
“And so do you,” answered Sibyl. “If mother is good you are not, and I’m not, so we both must be broke in; but I’ve got a bit of a temper. I know that. Nursie, when you were a little girl did you have a bit of a temper of your own?”