“Never heard of her, and never want to,” cried Nina.
“Is she one of the dead-and-gones?” exclaimed Josephine. “I hate all dead-and-gones, don’t you, girls?”
“Yes—loathe them!” exclaimed the other sisters.
Brenda laughed.
“Look here,” she said. “I must have a special dress, and a very, very pretty one to go to Hazlitt Chase. I was thinking of getting a pale blue silk—”
“Blue—silk!” exclaimed all three.
“Silk, Brenda? But surely your money—I mean your salary, poor darling, doesn’t run to that!” cried Nina, who had a more caressing way than her sisters.
“Whether my salary runs to it or not, I mean to get it,” said Brenda—“a very pale shade and plenty of white lace with it, and a white lace scarf, such as is worn so much now, on my shoulders. Ah, your governess will look one of the prettiest girls at the fête, and won’t you be pleased, mes enfants?”
Brenda scarcely knew a word of French, but was fond of interlarding her conversation with a few simple sentences. These had an excellent effect as far as the Reverend Josiah was concerned, but the girls had no respect for them, being well aware of the shallowness of their darling Brenda’s pretensions with regard to the French tongue.
“Well,” said Nina—“and how are you going to get the dress?”