“Indeed I did,” replied Mabel.
“Well, that is gratifying, I suppose,” said Lady Lushington; “although I am by no means certain, my dear May, that I return the compliment. My impression is that another year at that excellent school would do you no end of good. Well, you lost your head trying to get that prize. But how could that fact affect Mrs Priestley’s bill?”
“I mean,” said Mabel, “that I forgot about packing my dresses and taking them away, and I had not an idea that my bill amounted to that. In fact,” she added, meeting Annie’s eyes, “I am quite positive that Mrs Priestley has made a mistake, and that you will find the bill—”
Here she hesitated.
“I,” said Annie, “happen to know pretty well what May’s lovely dresses cost. Oh, you know, Lady Lushington, we thought them perfectly ruinous in price—we schoolgirls; for our best dresses usually come to from three to four pounds. But May’s—oh, some of hers were up to ten or twelve guineas. Even so, however, I don’t think May can owe Mrs Priestley more than forty pounds.”
“Then the woman’s a thief and a cheat!” said angry Lady Lushington.
“I think, perhaps,” said Annie, speaking in her gentlest tones, “it might be fairest to let her explain. She has probably—oh, she has such numbers of customers!—put down some items that don’t belong to Mabel in her account.”
“Well, well, we shall see,” said Lady Lushington. “You posted that letter, didn’t you, Miss Brooke?” Then she added, hastily and without waiting for an answer, “I shall be glad if it is so. I make no objection to paying forty pounds, but I do draw the line at seventy.”
“Thank you, auntie; thank you so much,” said Mabel, running up to her aunt and kissing her.
“Now don’t, my dear! You disturb the powder on my cheek. Do sit down; don’t be so impulsive.”