"We'll write twice a week always," whispered Dot, twining her arms round her friend's waist.
"And always be each other's bosom friend," said Mona.
Then the prayer-bell rang, and the four intimate friends scanned Thea closely, seeing that she had been crying, and feeling angry with "that" Mona Parbury for letting her.
CHAPTER X
RICHES OR RAGS
Captain Carew and John Brown—big John Brown in Betty's parlance—sat at dinner together.
Although not an elegant dinner table it was very far removed from being a poor one. The linen, silver and glass were all of the best, the very best; the man-servant was decorous and swift of eye, foot and hand, and the menu was beyond any that had entered into John Brown's knowledge, before he came to Dene Hall. Yet he was out of love with it all.
Captain Carew had his glass of clear saffron-coloured wine at his right hand. His silver fork was making easy journeyings from a slice of cold turkey on his plate, to his mouth, and his eyes were now and again running over a long type-written letter that lay before him.
He was well pleased, well fed, and interested, and he had no reason to suppose John Brown was in any other humour than himself.