I said nothing, but I knew perfectly well she had in mind Eddie Perkins and Willie Graham, and a lot of other little kids that hang around the fruit Punch at parties, and throw the peas from the Croquettes at each other when the footmen are not near, and pretend they are allowed to smoke, but have sworn off for the summer.
I was naturaly indignant at Sis’s words, which were not filial, to my mind, but I replied as sweetly as possable:
“I shall not be in your way, Leila. I ask nothing but Food and Shelter, and that perhaps not for long.”
“Why? Do you intend to die?” she demanded.
“I intend to work,” I said. “It’s more interesting than dieing, and will be a novelty in this House.”
Father came in just then, and he said:
“I’ll not wait to dress, Clara. Hello, children. I’ll just change my coller while you ring for the Cocktails.”
Mother got up and faced him with Magesty.
“We are not going to have any,” she said.
“Any what?” said father from the doorway.