“I was,” said Florence. “I have found one true man in the world.”
“Michael Reid?” remarked Brenda. “You talked and danced with him a good deal.”
“Yes; he said one queer thing—in fact, he said it three times. He must be a very good fellow, better even than—than we imagined.”
“What did he say?” asked Brenda, as she unfastened her sister’s white frock, and slightly yawned, for she was tired and wanted to go to bed.
“He said that he would like a girl quite as well if she were as poor as a church mouse. He said it so earnestly, too. He knows nothing about us, but you know that sort of remark would not have been believed by the girls at school; would it, Brenda?”
“No; I expect not. Well, you are as poor as a church mouse, Flo, but you didn’t tell him so?”
“Of course I didn’t. No one must know before poor Mrs Fortescue, and I suppose she must be told after we have been to London to see Lady Marian Dixie. All the same, Brenda, I can’t realise it a bit. Things are going on just as usual, and we are to stay here till the end of our holidays. We have till at least the twentieth of January to be happy in. Why should we be miserable till then?”
“I have no intention of being miserable,” was Brenda’s remark.
A few minutes later, the girls got into bed and slept with that sound refreshing sleep which only comes to most of us in early youth. The next day, Lieutenant Reid did himself the pleasure of calling on Mrs Fortescue. He said he came to see her, but he looked decidedly disappointed when he was told that both the girls were out.
“They are with Susie Arbuthnot,” she said. “They went early this morning and won’t be back until late. I think they are going to have tea at the Arbuthnots’.” Mr Reid’s face decidedly fell. “But you and I will have tea together,” said Mrs Fortescue; “and I can tell you about the dear girls. I can see that you are much interested in them.”