“Rapturous,” said Geraldine, with a smile. She was a tall, plainly-dressed young woman, some four years older than Yvonne, with a pleasant, frank face and a decided manner. She wore a plain sailor-hat, a blouse, and a grey-stuff skirt that hung rather badly beneath a buff belt; thus contrasting with Yvonne, who suggested dainty perfection of attire, from the diminutive bonnet to the toe of her little brown shoe. Miss Vicary gave the impression of the typical schoolmistress, which she would most probably have been, had not the possession of a magnificent voice decided her career otherwise.
“I mean it’s delicious being here alone with you,” returned Yvonne. “Away from men altogether.”
“They are a horrid lot,” said Geraldine, drily. “I wonder you see as much of them as you do.”
“But how can I help it? They will keep coming my way. Oh, I wish they were all women. It would be so much nicer!”
Geraldine broke into a laugh.
“You goose!” she said. “You wouldn’t have the women falling in love with you as the men do!”
“But I don’t want them to fall in love with me,” cried Yvonne. “It is so stupid. I don’t fall in love with them.”
“Then why do you give them encouragement? I am always at you about it.”
“I am only kind to them, as any one else would be.”
“Fiddlesticks, my dear. You should keep them in their place.”