“A thing to wear!” said Fanchon, colouring and trembling. “What sort of thing?”
“That’s our secret.”
Fanchon got up from the chair where she was seated and began, in a perfunctory way, to tidy the hopeless room.
“I suppose we had best go out,” she said. “Brenda said we were to follow her to the sands. She says we’re not to bathe this morning. Oh—and, Nina—you’re to take your notebook and pencil—there are a lot of things to enter.”
“I am going to lose that account-book,” said Nina. “I won’t be bothered any more—horrid Brenda!! I had dear Mademoiselle as my governess.”
“Mademoiselle d’Etienne?” exclaimed Fanchon. “What do you know about her? Brenda says she’s not a bit nice. Brenda distrusts her dreadfully.”
“Well, and she doesn’t like Brenda,” exclaimed Nina. The moment she said this, Fanchon walked up to her young sister and said sternly:
“What have you seen of Mademoiselle? Out with it!”
“I won’t tell!” said Nina. “You’re not to question me—I won’t tell! You have all your fun, and I don’t mention it—I can if I like—I can write to dear papa and tell him, and he’ll come over pretty quick—you had best not worry me.”
“Never mind,” said Fanchon, who didn’t at all like this threat on Nina’s part; more particularly as she knew that her little sister was quite capable of carrying it into effect. “Never mind,” she repeated. “But you might as well tell me that little wonderful secret.”