“I want you to make me a promise.”
“Oh, I do hate promises,” said Nina.
“I don’t,” said Josephine, “they’re rather interesting; nothing cheerful ever comes in our way, and even to make a promise seems better than nothing.”
“Well, the promise I want you two to make to me is this: that you won’t breathe a word of what I have said to you, either to father or Brenda—that you will keep it entirely to yourselves and allow me to manage Miss Brenda. I think I can promise that if you do this you will both have rather pretty frocks at the seaside, and that Nina shall have her flounces. Go on finishing the pink muslins, girls, for they’ll be a help, and certainly better than nothing, and let me approach Brenda to-morrow morning.”
“Oh dear!” said Nina, “how clever you are! I am sure I, for my part, will be only too delighted. But how dare you?” she added. “Does it mean that you would go—and—put her in prison?”
“I put her in prison—you little goose! What do you mean? No, no! But she’ll buy our clothes for us out of father’s own money or—there! don’t let’s talk any more about it.”
Josephine hesitated for a moment, then she flew to her sister’s side, flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her heartily.
“I think we ought to be awfully pleased with Nina,” was Fanchon’s response, “for she’s quite a little brick, and I tell you what it is, girls—we’ll go and pick some fruit for tea and I shall send Molly for two-pennyworth of cream to eat with it; we may as well enjoy ourselves. Brenda has left a few pence with me in case of necessities. She warned me to be awfully careful, but I think she won’t scold us much about the cream when I have said a few things to her I mean to say.”
“Mightn’t we have some currant buns?” said Nina. “I was so hungry at lunch—there didn’t seem to be a scrap of meat on that bone.”
“Yes—we’ll have currant buns, too. She left me eleven-pence. You can run to the village, Nina, if you like, and get the buns. Mrs Simpson must have them out of the oven by now.”