“You may get the dresses, mother,” said Eileen, “only I sincerely hope you won’t, for we cannot wear them. We don’t quite know yet what we mean to do with our lives; but fashionable society girls we will not be. Now, mammy, why should we be fashionable girls if we dislike the idea?”
Here Marjorie, notwithstanding her rude words, went on her knees, wound her strong young arms round her mother’s waist, and looked with such imploring eyes into her face that, notwithstanding her anger, Mrs. Chetwynd was touched in spite of herself.
“We should hate it all, you know, dear mammy,” said Marjorie. “I speak for Eileen as well as for myself.—You agree with me, Eileen, don’t you?”
“Of course,” replied Eileen. “Well, Marjorie, have it out with the dear mammy, for I must go at once to see Fowler’s last baby. I am taking it a rattle and some chocolates.”
“You will kill a young infant if you give it chocolate,” said Mrs. Chetwynd, “and I forbid you to go to Fox
Buildings. No young ladies from my house must go near such a place.”
“Dear me, mother, why not?” said Eileen.
“Eileen, my dear, I decline to argue with you. Really, when I think of all that you two girls are doing to oppose me, and render my life miserable, I could almost wish that you were back at school.”
“Of course, mother,” said Eileen gravely, “if you positively forbid me to go I will obey you.”
She sat down on the nearest chair and stared hard at her mother.