“Where did you meet him?”
I hesitated because I am by nature truthfull. But at last I said:
“At school.”
“Oh,” she said slowly. “So you met him at school! What was he doing there? Teaching elocution?”
“Elocution!”
“This is Harold, is it?”
“Certainly.” Well, he was Harold, if I chose to call him that, wasn’t he? Sis gave a little sigh.
“You’re quite hopeless, Bab. And, although I’m perfectly sure you want me to take the thing to mother, I’ll do nothing of the sort.”
She flung it into the fire. I was raging. It had cost me a dollar. It was quite brown when I got it out, and a corner was burned off. But I got it.
“I’ll thank you to burn your own things,” I said with dignaty. And I went back to the drawing room.