“No,” said Fanchon.
“No,” echoed Josephine. “What do you mean, Nina? you extraordinary child!”
“Well—he told me this morning quite simply; I didn’t ask him, he just mentioned it. You won’t guess—it is really awful—it will put you out—it gives me a sort of lumpy, throaty feeling. He gave Brenda nine pounds! three pounds for each of us! and she must have kept back—oh, I can’t make it out—it makes my head turn round—she must have bought her own lovely blue silk, and all her own lovely clothes out of our money! Oh dear! oh dear! I wouldn’t have thought it of her. And to think that I am not even to have frills to my muslin frock!”
“And to think that the frocks must be pink for us!” said Fanchon. “Oh, I can’t believe it.”
“It is true, though,” said Josephine. “She has kept back—oh dear, oh dear—how much is it? I wonder!”
Again three puzzled heads bent over the piece of paper, and at last the full enormity of the beloved Brenda’s conduct was revealed to the children. She had, of their money—yes, their own money—given to them by their own father—seven pounds, sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence to account for!
“We might have been dressed like duchesses,” said Nina. She burst out crying. “Oh—this horrid frock!” she said, and she kicked the offending pink muslin to the opposite side of the summerhouse. “I’ll never wear it—that I won’t!” she cried. “I’ll disgrace her, that I will—horrid thief of a thing!”
As to Fanchon—she walked deliberately out of the summerhouse. With steady steps this young lady, who was very wise for her years, approached her father’s study. The Reverend Josiah was supposed to be busy with his sermon. At such times, it was considered exceedingly ill-advised to molest him. Brenda would never do it. She said that all muses ought to be respected—the sacred muse most of all. But there was no respect in Fanchon’s heart just then. She opened the door with violence and—alas!—it must be owned—aroused Josiah out of a profound sleep. His head had been bent down on the historic pages of old Josephus, and sweet slumber had there visited him.
He started up angrily when detected in his nap by his eldest daughter. He would have forgiven Brenda, but Fanchon had not at all charming ways.
“My dear,” he said, “you know when I am busy with my sermon that I will not be disturbed.”