“I am glad Aunt Helen has secured Fowler as her coachman,” said Letitia. “But, all the same,” she added hastily, “you both do look disgracefully shabby.”
“Well, Lettie,” said Marjorie, “I don’t feel shabby,
which is the main thing. What can be the matter with this serviceable dress? It is very strong and won’t tear, and is the sort which does not crumple much.”
“It is all over grease,” replied Letitia; “spots of grease here, there, and everywhere. And, oh, your gloves—there is absolutely a hole in the thumb of the one on your left hand. It is too disgraceful!”
“My gloves suit my character,” replied Marjorie.
She looked at her sister; they both sat back in their seats and indulged in hearty girlish laughter. They were very like one another; the same dark, handsome eyes beamed out of each face, the same good arched brows, the same hair, thick and straight, very dark in color, but cropped to within an inch of their respective heads. They had clear, good complexions. Plenty of color brightened each pair of healthy cheeks—their lips were beautifully formed and they had snow-white pearly teeth. And yet these two girls, partly because of their dress, were not looked at twice during that journey, whereas Letitia was the cynosure of many admiring eyes.
[CHAPTER III—THE TORN DRESS.]
King’s Cross was reached without adventure, and a moment later Marjorie was eagerly talking to old Fowler the coachman.
“How are you, Fowler? I am so glad to see you again,” she cried. She held out her hand to the old coachman as she spoke.
“I am quite well, I thank you, miss,” he replied. He could not help smiling into the beaming dark eyes, and could not help thinking, notwithstanding a certain amount of chagrin, how nice it was to have Miss Marjorie back from school.