"Whatever are you talking of, Kitten!" the elder Miss Bush exclaimed, as she stirred her cocoa. "Why, Liv and Dev's as good a berth as you'd get--thirty bob a week, and a whole holiday on Saturday--to say nothing of off times like this--you must be mad, dearie!" Then something further in her sister's remark aroused comment. "And what do you mean by people of 'another class'? Why, aren't we as good as anyone--if we had their money?" Katherine Bush put down her empty cup before she replied: "No, we're not--and if you weren't as ignorant as you are, dear old Tild, you'd know it. There are lots and lots of classes above us--they mayn't be any cleverer--indeed, they are often fools, and many aren't any richer--but they're ladies and gentlemen." Matilda felt personally insulted. "Upon my word, Kitten!--If you are such a poor thing that you don't consider yourself a young lady--I am not. I always did say that you would pick up rubbishly ideas bothering after those evening lectures and French classes--instead of coming with Glad and Bert and me to the cinema, like a decent Christian--it was a low sort of thing to do, I think, and looked as if we'd none of us had a proper education--and all they have done for you is to unsettle your mind, my dear--so I tell you." Katherine Bush smiled complacently and looked at her sister straight in the eyes in her disconcerting way, which insured attention. Matilda knew that she would now have to listen probably to some home truths. She could manage Gladys very well in spite of her giggles and irresponsibility, but she had never been able to have the slightest influence upon Katherine from the moment of their mother's death, years before, when she had taken her place as head of the orphaned household. Katherine had always been odd. She had a vile temper as a child, and was silent and morose, and at constant war with that bright boy Bert, loved of the other sisters: Matilda remembered very well many scenes when Katherine had puzzled her. She was so often scornful and disapproving, and used to sit there with a book scowling at them on Sundays when a rowdy friend or two came in to tea, and never once joined in the chorus of the comic songs they sang, while she simply loathed the gramophone records. "You say awfully silly things sometimes, Tild," Katherine announced calmly. "There would not be any good in my considering myself a young lady, because at my present stage anyone who really knew would know that I am not--but I mean to become one some day. You can do anything with will." Matilda bridled. "I don't know what more of a lady you could be than we all are--Why, Mabel Cawber always says that we are the most refined family of the whole lot at Bindon's Green--and Mabel ought to know surely!" "Because her father was a solicitor, and she has never done a stroke of work in her life?" Katherine smiled again--it made Matilda feel uncomfortable. "Mabel is a perfect lady," she affirmed indignantly.