Mr. said: “You can’t compare her complexion with Helena’s.”
Mrs. said: “I like Eunice’s pale complexion. So delicate.”
Young Miss struck in: “I admire Helena’s hair—light brown.”
Young Master took his turn: “I prefer Eunice’s hair—dark brown.”
Mr. opened his great big mouth, and asked a question: “Which of you two sisters is the oldest? I forget.”
Mrs. answered for me: “Helena is the oldest; she told us so when she was here last.”
I really could not stand that. “You must be mistaken,” I burst out.
“Certainly not, my dear.”
“Then Helena was mistaken.” I was unwilling to say of my sister that she had been deceiving them, though it did seem only too likely.
Mr. and Mrs. looked at each other. Mrs. said: “You seem to be very positive, Eunice. Surely, Helena ought to know.”