“Oh, but does she talk English?”
“Of course not—French. How can you learn French if you don’t talk it?”
“I shall never understand,” said poor Merry.
“Well, I’ve no doubt she will let you off very easily during the first few days,” said Aneta. “But afterwards she is just as particular as woman can be.”
The girls went downstairs, where a group of other girls—most of them wearing pretty white dresses, for they were all still in full summer attire—met in the wide, pleasant hall. Aneta performed the ceremony of introduction.
“Henrietta and Mary Gibson, may I introduce my special friends and cousins, Cicely and Meredith—otherwise Merry—Cardew?”
Two tall, fair, lady-like girls responded to this introduction with a hearty shake of the hand and a hearty welcome to the new-comers.
“Here is Rosamond Dacre,” continued Aneta, as a very dark, somewhat plain girl appeared in view.—“Rosamond, my friends and cousins, Cicely and Merry Cardew.”
Rosamond shook hands, but stiffly and without any smile. The next minute a laughing, merry, handsome little girl, with dark-blue eyes, very dark curling eyelashes, and quantities of curling black hair, tumbled rather than walked into view.
“Ah Kathleen—Kitty, you’re just as incorrigible as ever!” cried Aneta:—“Girls, this is our Irish romp, as we always call her. Her name is Kathleen O’Donnell.—Now then, Kathleen, you must be good, you know, and not too terribly Irish. I have the honor to present to you, Kathleen, my cousins Cicely and Merry Cardew.”