“Nothing else at present, but he will soon.”
Brenda lay very still and thoughtful on her bed. After a minute she said:
“Fanchon—you are quite mistaken in me.”
“I know you thoroughly,” said Fanchon; “I always believed you to be intensely conceited, frightfully—appallingly vain, and—not too honourable. But now I also know that you are nothing more nor less than a common thief! How long do you think father would keep you in the house if he knew?”
“But—he doesn’t know, dear, dear Fanchon!”
“Not yet. We thought we’d tell you first—it seemed only fair to give you that chance.”
“How sweet of you, Fanchon.”
“But I have told you now, and I shall go straight to him this very minute and show him this little sum unless you confess the truth to me.”
“I—I—” said Brenda—“what truth?”
“Have you got seven pounds, sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence of our money in your possession? If you say no—I go immediately to father. If you say yes—why, perhaps I will wait an hour or so.”