"Look at yourself," suggested Constance, "and see what else you can expect to be called. Did you brush your teeth this morning?"
"Oh, mind your business."
"Then go and brush them now," said Mona's voice from the stairway in its clear and singing cadence. Whatever Mona said took on the sound and form of music. Pat's hoarse and unformed speech had an echo of the same seductive sweetness. The mother entered, adjusting her hat. "I'm lunching in town, kiddies. What's the row?"
Pat cast a sullenly appealing glance at Constance. In vain.
"The Scrub's been doing a hug with Warren Graves," announced the elder sister.
"I have not."
Mona regarded the flaming face with amused pity. She did not take the news seriously. "Did you like him, Bambina?" she asked with careless sympathy.
A quick, half-suppressed sob answered and surprised her.
"He fed her up on the punch," began Constance. "And then——"