“You don’t look too happy: you seem sort of worried,” and Penelope gave a sigh and laid her hand on Brenda’s arm.
“When he proposes, it’ll be all right,” said Brenda. “It was on account of him that I wanted you to stay. I don’t want to be governess any more. I want to be married and to have my fun like other girls; and he is awfully rich—Oh—I do declare! Yes—it is—why, there is Mr Fred Hungerford and his brother!”
Brenda bridled, and drew herself up. Young Hungerford approached. He took off his hat to both the girls, and presently he and his brother and Brenda and Penelope were chatting in the most amicable way together.
While they were thus employed—Brenda’s face now radiant with smiles, her eyes bright with merriment, and even Penelope laughing and chatting in the most natural way in the world—who should pass by but Harry Jordan and his friend, Joe Burbery. Brenda felt that she would like to cut Harry Jordan at that moment. She contented herself, however, with the very stiffest inclination of her head. Fred followed her gaze, and favoured Joe with the slightest perceptible nod.
“How is it you know that bounder?” he said, turning to Brenda as he spoke.
Brenda coloured deeply.
“I just know him slightly,” she said, “do you?”
“Why, yes—of course. He is the son of a small draper in our town. I used to meet him when I was a schoolboy on my way to school every morning, and I think mother sometimes gets odds and ends at Jordan’s shop. They’re fifth-rate tradespeople, and I don’t believe their business is very extensive.”
Brenda felt a coldness stealing round her heart. Was this the explanation—the true explanation—with regard to her merchant prince? After a minute, during which she thought swiftly, she said:
“He has had the audacity to speak to me, but of course I shan’t notice him in future.”