"It's a jolly old house where you are going," said Lance, "but I don't know whether you'll enjoy it much, it's so slow, so stupid. Still, perhaps you're not accustomed to much fun." Lance could hardly imagine the cheese-monger's family as very entertaining.
"Oh yes, we have a great deal of fun sometimes," said Nan, gaining confidence. "In winter we coast and skate, and in summer there are always picnics, and sometimes a circus."
"But at home—wasn't there ever any fun at home?"
Nan could not remember anything which impressed her as particularly enjoyable in-doors.
"No," she said, slowly, "I don't think there was. Marian always liked to tend the shop, but I never cared so much for that. I didn't like the smell of the cheeses, don't you know."
"It was a cheese shop?" Lance looked very much interested.
"Cheese and butter, and eggs and hams," Nan recited the list glibly.
"Well," said Lancelot, very gravely, "there won't be anything like that at Beverley; and see here, Nan, I'll just give you a friendly hint. I don't think I'd talk much about the shop before Cousin Letitia. You see, she might not like it—don't be ashamed of it," added the boy, flushing a little; "I don't mean you to be mean about it, only you won't need to talk of it."
Nan felt that she had begun to put her old life behind her when she was arrayed in the brown cashmere, and now little by little she was learning to feel as the people around her felt; that, after all, she would be expected to act and appear and think very differently about everything as soon as she was in Beverley.
"What do you do?" said Nan, looking brightly at her new acquaintance. "Do you live at Beverley?"