“Not if they were like yours,” I said; “but I have seen some brothers that weren’t at all nice to their sisters.”
“Then I’m sure it was the sisters’ fault; anyway, a good deal their fault,” Evey returned promptly. “I’m just the opposite of you, for, do you know, I have often longed to be a boy, and so has Mary. If we had all been boys, it would have been easier for father and mother. I almost think they’d have gone to the Colonies.”
“How horrible,” I said. “I am sure you should be glad you and Mary aren’t boys, just to have stopped that.”
But Yvonne was not to be convinced.
“No,” she said. “I think it would be delightful—all going together, you know; and perhaps we may, some day, after all. It would be much better than staying in England, and the boys by themselves all over the world, and father and mother looking anxious; and you know,” she added, “even Mary and I mightn’t be able to stay at home. We, might have to work somehow, too.”
“Do you mean to be governesses?” I asked, in a very appalled tone of voice. But Evey’s reply appalled me still more.
“Perhaps, or, if not governesses, teachers of some kind, if we were good at teaching. But there are lots of other things for girls now. Father often talks about them. We might have some sort of business. Something like a big upholsterer’s, perhaps. That would be nice, for the boys might be in it too. And Joss could design things, he is so clever; and Lancey could keep the books. Lancey’s very good at figures. It would be almost as nice as going to the Colonies.”
I stared at her.
“Evey,” I said, “you are joking.”