“Poor thing, how she always did hate the idea!”
“She won’t when the time comes,” said Hermione.
“Once she is plunged into that fun she will enjoy it as well as another.”
“I never should,” I said.
Rosalind glanced at me and laughed.
“Oh, perhaps you’ll change too,” she said. “Well, you look awfully nice. Your breakfast will be brought to your rooms to-morrow morning sharp at seven o’clock. We have déjeuner at twelve, afternoon tea at four, dinner at seven. The rest of the day is divided up into all sorts of strange and odd patterns, totally different from English life. But, of course, the meals are all-important.”
“Why,” I said, “I did not think you were so greedy.”
“Nor are we; but you see, dear, during meals we each speak the language of our native country, and I can tell you there is a babel sometimes when the Baroness is not at the head of her table. All the rest of the time the English girls must talk French, German, or Italian; and the French ones must talk English, German, or Italian; and the German girls must talk French, English, or Italian; and so on, and so on.”
“Oh, you confuse me,” I said. “How can any one girl talk three languages at once?”
“Day about, or week about—I forget which,” said Rosalind. “Now, good-night, good-night.”