It isn't conceivable.
I believe I'm a little tired with that, and with rearranging Mrs.
Whitney's flat, and a little worried, too, about bills, the money from
Father comes so slowly. Not that I need mind owing a trifle at the shops;
half the women run accounts; but it's embarrassing not to have ready
money. Why, I have to buy things to ward off gifts; Meg simply won't see
me go without.
Perhaps I'm depressed too, because to-day has been a succession of petty
squabbles, and I hate squabbling.
This morning came Aunt Frank. I knew she had returned from Bermuda, so I
wasn't surprised to see her dumpy figure appear in Mrs. Whitney's parlour,
followed by Uncle Timothy's broad back and towering head. I did with zest
the honours of the apartment. It was sweet revenge to see Mrs. Baker's
nervous discomfort at meeting me, and to watch her stealing furtive
glances at my beautiful home.
"Well, Nelly, dear," she said, "you look very cosey, but we expected that,
after your visit to Mrs. Van Dam, you would go to Marcia until our
return."
"Oh, I couldn't think of troubling either of you," I said sweetly; "I have
friends to whom it is a real pleasure to advise me.
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