"How nice of them to ask us all three by name," said Hilda, gloating over the card. "They know we never go out more than two at a time unless specially invited."
"It's a good long invitation," said Wyn.
"Wyn!" cried Jac, suddenly stopping before her and shaking her fist in her face, "Wynifred Allonby, what have you got to wear?"
"Nothing," said Wyn, helplessly. "I don't think I shall go—you two are the ones that do us credit. You can go in your pretty new gowns."
"I hope you understand," said Hilda, with decision, "that not one of us sets foot in that glorious studio, with a parquet floor, and most probably Willoughby's band, unless you are forthcoming in an entirely new rig-out! Do you hear me? If I have to drag you to Oxford Street myself, you must and shall be decent! You have disgraced your family long enough in that old black rag, or in something made of tenpenny muslin! A new dress you shall have—silk it must be—thick, good silk, thick enough to stand by itself! Now, do, there's a darling!"
"I don't think——" began Wyn.
"Oh, yes, I know what you are doing," said Hilda, calmly, "paying for the housekeeping out of your own money, so that Osmond may save up; but I am going to put a stop to that; and you have heaps of money in the savings bank. Don't be miserly, it is so hateful."
Wyn looked somewhat confused by these terrible charges.
"Well," admitted she, hesitatingly, "I don't mind telling you two, that I had a cheque this morning from Carter" (her publisher). "It was not a very big one—only the royalty on about fifty copies of 'Cicely Montfort.' But I could buy a really good gown with it. Do you think I might?"
"Might? I say you ought; it's your duty," cried Jac, vehemently. "Everyone at Innisfallen will know you—every soul knows you are an authoress. You ought to do us credit—you shall. I'll have no nonsense about it."