“Do you, Brenda?” cried Fanchon. “I wonder why.”
“I detest her,” said Brenda.
“Oh, but she’s so funny,” exclaimed Fanchon.
“Do you know,” said Brenda, “that she’s leaving Hazlitt Chase? Penelope mentioned the fact quite casually to me yesterday. She will not be there when darling Penelope returns. Perhaps if the ladies knew that little item of news, they wouldn’t be quite so agreeable to her. They think a great deal of the fact that she’s French teacher at the Chase.”
Fanchon yawned.
“I dare say,” she answered. “But after all, what does that matter? She’s rather a pleasant woman, I think, and she does talk such funny English; it’s as good as a play to hear her.”
“Well,” said Brenda, “we needn’t bother about her now. The great thing is for us to slip away after supper. Your friend will be there, of course, and you will talk to him.”
“You mean Mr Burbery,” said Fanchon, blushing. “Don’t colour up like that, dear—I wouldn’t if I were you. He can’t mean anything, of course.”
“Oh, of course not,” said Fanchon; but she coloured more vividly than ever, while a delicious thrill ran through her childish breast. “I wonder,” she said in a low tone, “if you will lend me the bangle again to-night.”
“No—I won’t, Fanchon.”