“I am going now—in a few minutes—to see your father, and will ask him to let us have the pony and trap. Then we can all drive to Rocheford, where there is a very good draper’s shop. There I will buy a silk and get Madame Declassé, in the High Street, to make it for me in time.”
“But father won’t know you in blue silk.”
“I don’t want him to. Do you suppose, for a minute, you little geese, that I am going to tell him it is on my account I want the pony and trap? Is it likely he would accede to the wishes of a poor little governess? Not I, mes enfants—not I. You three dear things are to be the innocent cause of our drive to Rocheford. Don’t you suppose that you want any cotton frocks for the seaside?”
“Oh, yes—yes!” said Nina, “we want frocks, but not cotton ones.”
“Muslins are quite as cheap,” said Brenda. “I shall call them cotton to your father, and will buy muslin dresses for you—a pale pink muslin each—how will they look, chéries?”
“Sweet, sweet!” said Josephine.
“Entrancing!” exclaimed Nina; while Fanchon smacked her lips in anticipation of her own appearance in pink muslin.
Now Brenda knew quite well that these sandy-haired young people with freckled faces and flat features would by no means look their best in pink, be it muslin or cotton, but as she meant them to be foils to herself, she decided to leave them in crass ignorance on this point. The very name, pink muslin, had a delicious sound, and, as there was little time to waste, she told the girls that she would excuse lessons that morning and go upstairs to the school-room to make some mental calculations. Then, having estimated the exact amount of money which the different dresses would cost, she would invade the Reverend Josiah at the hour named.
That good man was busy preparing his sermon when Brenda’s gentle but distinct knock was heard at the door.
“I am so sorry to disturb you, sir,” she said on entering, and she dropped the prettiest imaginable little curtsey. It was quite old-fashioned, and delighted the rector.