Here she and her pupils were taken for a guinea a week each, and Brenda had the surplus to spend on teas out and on little expeditions generally. She was careful on these occasions to be absolutely and thoroughly honest. She even consulted Nina on the subject. She was exceedingly polite to Nina just now and, at the same time, intensely sarcastic. She was fond of asking Nina, even in the middle of the table d’hôte dinner, if she had her pencil and notebook handy, and if she would then and there kindly enter the item of twopence three farthings spent on cherries,—quarter of a pound to eat on the beach,—or if she had absolutely forgotten the fact that she was obliged to provide a reel of white and a reel of black cotton for necessary repairs of the wardrobe. How Nina hated her pretty governess on these occasions! how her little eyes would flash with indignation and her small face looked pinched with the sense of tragedy which oppressed her, and which she could not understand.
The commonplace ladies who lived in the commonplace boarding-house were deeply interested in Nina’s extraordinary talent for accounts. They gently asked the exceedingly pretty and attractive Miss Carlton what it meant.
“Simply a little mania of hers,” said Brenda, with a shrug of her plump white shoulders, for she always wore décolletée dress at late dinner and her shoulders and arms were greatly admired by the other visitors at the boarding-house. Nina began to dread the subject of accounts. Once she forgot her notebook and pencil on purpose, but Brenda was a match for her. She asked her in a loud semi-whisper if she could tot up exactly what they had expended that day, and when Nina replied that she had left the notebook upstairs, she was desired immediately to go to fetch it. The little girl left the room on this occasion with a sense of almost hatred at her heart.
“Fetch that odious book! oh dear, oh dear!” She wished every account-book in the world at the bottom of the sea. She wished she had never interfered with Brenda. She wished she had never made that terrible little sum on the day when Brenda went to Hazlitt Chase. She was being severely punished for her anxiety and her sense of justice. Brenda had determined that this should be the case, and had given her small pupil a terrible time while she was spending that seven pounds, sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence on extra clothes for her pupils.
She took them into a fashionable shop, for, as the money had to be spent, she was determined that it should be done as quickly as possible. As she could not save it for herself, she wanted to get rid of it, it did not matter how quickly. Therefore, while Fanchon stood transfixed with admiration of her own figure in a muslin hat before a long glass, and eagerly demanded that it should be bought immediately, it was poor Nina who was brought forward to decide.
“It is becoming,” said Brenda, gazing at her pupil critically; “that pale shade of blue suits you to perfection; and that ‘chic’ little mauve bow at the side is so very, very comme il faut. But that is not the question in the very least, Fanchon—whether it becomes you or not. It is this: can we afford it—or rather, can Nina afford it? Nina, look. Can you afford to allow your sister to buy that hat?”
The serving-woman in the shop very nearly tittered when the plain, awkward little girl—the youngest of the party—was brought forward to make such a solemn decision. Nina herself was very sulky, and, without glancing at the hat, said:
“Yes, take it, I don’t care!”
“Very well, darling,” said Brenda. “You can send that hat to Palliser Gardens—9, Palliser Gardens,” she said to the attendant. “Nina, enter in your account-book twelve shillings and eleven-pence three farthings for Fanchon’s hat.”
“I want one like it!” cried Josie.