"So they are," said Merle, suddenly, in a kind of small explosion. Everyone laughed and she flushed to the roots of her black hair.
"Oh, Merle will become domesticated soon enough—she isn't twelve yet," her mother said, comfortably. "She is to have a governess when we get back."
"I pity the poor governess who is to teach Merle all the useful domestic arts," said Mr. Warner. "She will have an uphill game."
The angular lady, Miss Simpson, spoke suddenly.
"Do you not think," she asked, "that the tuition of the useful arts should begin at a very much earlier age?" Her voice, like herself, was angular; she glared at Merle, who returned the glare with interest. "Much more was expected of little girls when I was young."
Mr. Warner gave one of his great laughs.
"Oh, much more, I'm sure," he said. "But surroundings count for something; perhaps you weren't brought up on a lonely run, where your only playmates were horses and dogs."
"Certainly not," said Miss Simpson. "I was brought up in London. And in my day young ladies learned decorum."
"What's decorum?" asked Merle bluntly.
"Something you haven't got, my little savage," said her father.