“What is that you said, my dear?”
“I say, bovver deeds!”
“I confess I do not understand. Run away, now, Penelope; I am busy.”
“But you ought for to know. Nancy King has come.”
“Who is Nancy King?”
“A girl. She’s squatting up close to Renny on the lawn, and her arm is twisted round Pauline’s waist. She’s big, and dressed awful grand. She has gold bangles on her arms, and tinkling gold things round her neck, and she’s here, and I thought course you ought for to know. I thought so ’cos I love you. Aren’t you pleased? Aren’t I the sort of little girl you could perhaps give a lollypop to?”
“No, you are not, Penelope. I do not wish you to tell tales of your sisters. Go away, my dear; go away.”
Penelope, in some wonder, and with a sense of disgust, not only with Nancy King and Miss Tredgold, but also with herself, left the room.
“I won’t tell her any more,” she thought. “She never seems to like what I do for her. She’d be pretty lonesome if it wasn’t for me; but she don’t seem to care for anybody. I’ll just rush away to nursey this very minute and tell her how I love being a schoolroom girl. I’ll tell her I dote on my lessons, and that I never for the big, big, wide world would be a nursery child again.”
“Queer little child, Penelope,” thought Miss Tredgold when her small niece had left her.