'I'll ask Neville about it,' said Kathie. 'He has said something once or twice about wishing I could go to Aunt Clotilda, but I always told him I shouldn't like it, and that unless papa and mamma regularly ordered me to go, I wouldn't. I do so dislike old maids.'
'Why, who do you know that's old maids?' asked Philippa. 'Why do you dislike them?'
'Oh! there's Miss Eccles—and, after all, I'm not sure that I do dislike her. No, I don't think I do,' she went on, meditatively. 'But there's Miss Fraser; there now, Philippa, we may dislike her—nasty, spying, sharp, spiteful thing!'
Philippa considered. It never occurred even to her to dispute the right of all the school to dislike Miss Fraser—her mind was considering another aspect of the question.
'But are you sure she is an old maid?' she said. 'She can't be more than twenty. When do old maids begin?'
'I don't know,' Kathie replied vaguely. 'I don't think there's any settled age. I suppose it's just that some are always going to be old maids. But let's talk of something nicer, Phil. Let's plan that place in Wales—Ty—Tig—I can't say the name of it in Welsh, but I know it means the White House. Let's plan all about it, how the rooms go, and everything, and fancy you're coming to stay with us there. Let me see—shall it be haunted?'
'No, no,' cried Philippa, with a little scream, putting her hands over her ears, relapsing suddenly into the sort of plaintive childishness which made her such an inconsistent little person. 'No, no, Kathie. It's very unkind of you to frighten me. I'll never come to stay with you if you're going to plan that it's haunted.'
'Then it shan't be,' said Kathie reassuringly. 'Don't be silly, Phil.'