Maggie sniffed at the roses. Belle lounged on the window-seat.
“Molly will be jealous,” she said. “Think of my having you these few moments all to myself!”
“I am delighted to come, as you know quite well,” replied Maggie. “It’s all right about school, isn’t it, Belle?”
“Yes, quite, quite right. We are to join you there in September.”
“It’s a perfectly splendid place,” said Maggie. “I will describe it to you later on.”
“But can it be nicer,” said Belle, “than our darling school at Hanover?”
“Nicer!” exclaimed Maggie. “You couldn’t compare the two places. I tell you it’s perfect. The girls—well, they’re aristocratic; they’re girls of the Upper Ten. It’s the most select school. You are in luck to be admitted, I can tell you. You will learn a lot about society when you are a member of Mrs. Ward’s school.”
“But what possible good will that do us when we are never going into it?” said Belle.
Maggie slightly narrowed her already narrow eyes, took off her hat, and combed back her crisp, dark hair from her low, full, very broad forehead. Then she said, with a smile, “You are to stay two years at Mrs. Ward’s, are you not?”
“Yes, I think that is the arrangement.”