"Well, why do they stand it?" asked Millie.
"We don't stand it," returned Maddie. "But you had better all shut up, girls; perhaps Melicent's a tell-tale."
"If you had any sense, you'd see that I've just proved that I'm not," remarked Melicent.
"How have you proved it?"
"If I keep my word to Uncle Edmund, of course I shall keep my word to you. I promise not to tell tales; and, when I promise, you can go away and bet on it."
The universal squeal of merriment at her funny phrase restored harmony.
"Of course," said Gwen, "I see that it's best to be straightforward; but we're not allowed to be. We simply have to make our own pleasures, unknown to them. We should never read a book, nor get a letter, nor meet a soul, nor do anything but get up, have meals, do lessons, go to bed. Mother won't let us read a book she hasn't read first; and as she never opens a book herself from year's end to year's end, there is an end of that. We mustn't have a letter unless she sees it; so of course we have to have our letters sent, addressed to Tommy, to Bensdale Post Office; and then there's the adventure of walking over to fetch them. You mayn't go out without saying where you've been, nor spend a halfpenny without telling her what you bought. She must really expect us to cheat, you know; and so we do."
"Maddie's going on for eighteen, and Gwen only a year younger," chimed in Theo, "and they're not supposed even to know what a young man is, let alone think about one. Gwen's awfully gone on Freshfield, who is Sir Joseph Burmester's agent. Well, if it was guessed, I don't know what would happen, for you see Freshfield is not our social equal—"
"My dears," broke in Miss Lathom, who was on thorns, "I think all this is very imprudent. Let your cousin wait a while, and see how she likes her aunt's system."
"I shall dislike it very much," said Melicent; "but I shall say so. Why don't you speak out?"