“I wonder now,” said Nina—she raised her flushed face and looked at her red little person in the tiny square of glass—“I wonder why she makes us wear pink. Do you think, Fanchon—do you think, Josephine, that it suits us?”
The two elder girls were quite silent, but a horrified expression crept over Fanchon’s face. She was older than the others, and had once heard it said that a girl with red hair—however pretty she might be—ought not to wear pink. A sense of revolt filled her soul.
“Why don’t you speak?” said Nina.
“I—I am thinking,” she said, crossly. “Don’t worry me.”
She was thinking to good purpose. The other two seemed to divine her thoughts. They all sat silent and moody.
“I shall do a sum in arithmetic to-night,” thought Josephine. “I know exactly how many yards of that horrid pink muslin she bought and what the hats cost, and those little cheap shoes, and those gloves.”
But Josephine did not say the words aloud. After a little time Nina said:
“I saw a quantity of gold in Brenda’s purse. It seems so odd that she should spend a lot of father’s money on herself, and so very, very little on us—doesn’t it? I don’t understand it—do you, girls?”
But before the girls could reply, Brenda, looking fresh and captivating, as usual, appeared by their side.
“Now, then,”—she said—“home we go. Oh, I am glad to get out of this heat. I think we’ll have supper in the garden to-night. It will be lovely under the mulberry tree. What do you say, petites? What dear, pretty little darlings you are!”