Now, Penelope knew that sugar-plums were delicious. She had heard of them, and at Christmas-time she used to dream of them, but very few had hitherto come into her life. She now looked eagerly at Miss Tredgold.
“If I are good for a long time without them, will you give me two or three?” she asked.
Miss Tredgold gave a short, grim laugh.
“We’ll see,” she said. “I never make rash promises. Oh! so this is my room.”
She looked around her.
“No carpet,” she said aloud; “no curtains; no pictures on the walls. A deal table for a dressing-table, the muslin covering much the worse for dirt and wear. Hum! You do live plain at The Dales.”
“Oh, yes; don’t us?” said Penelope. “And your room is much the handsomest of all the rooms. We call it very handsome. If you wor to see our rooms——”
“Were to see——”
“Yes, were to see,” repeated Penelope, who found this constant correction very tiresome.
“And may I ask,” exclaimed Miss Tredgold suddenly, not paying any heed to the little girl’s words, “what on earth is that in the blue mug?”