“Oh, you heard that, did you? Sophia said you would. Well, you must be careful about your shoes. Men always look at a woman’s feet.” She displayed her own, elegantly arched, in lustrous stockings and very high-heeled slippers. “Sophia and I—Sophia’s are nearly, but not quite as good as mine—are they Sophia?—Sophia and I have always been particular about our feet. I remember a ball, when I was a girl, where one of my partners—he ended by marrying a ridiculously fat woman with feet like cannon balls—insisted on calling me Cinderella because he said nobody else could have worn my shoes. Delightful creature! Do you remember, Sophia?” Sophia remembered very well. He had called her Cinderella, too, for the same reason, but as Caroline had been the first to report the remark, Sophia had never cared to spoil her pleasure in it. And now Caroline did not wait for a reply, Rose entering at that moment, and her attention having to be called to the change in Henrietta’s method of doing her hair. Henrietta stiffened at once, but Rose threw, as it were, a smile in her direction, and said, “Yes, charming,” and helped herself to cake. “And now,” said Caroline, settling herself for the most interesting subject in the world, “your clothes, Henrietta.” “I haven’t any,” Henrietta said at once; “but I think they’ll do until I go away. I thought I should like to be a nurse, Aunt Caroline.” “Nurse! Nonsense! What kind? Babies? Rubbish! You’re going to stay here if you like us well enough, and we’ve made a little plan”—she nodded vigorously—“a little plan for you.” “We ought to say at once,” Sophia interrupted with painful honesty, “that it was Rose’s idea.” “Rose? Was it? I don’t know. Anyhow, we’re all agreed. You are to have a sum of money, child; yes, for your father’s sake, and perhaps for your own too, a sum of money to bring you in a little income for your clothes and pleasures, so that you shall be independent like the rest of us. Yes, it’s settled. I’ve written to our lawyer, James Batty. Did your father ever mention James Batty? But, of course, he wouldn’t. He married a fat woman, too, but a good soul, with a high colour, poor thing. Don’t say a word, child. You must be independent. Nursing! Bah! And if we don’t take care we shall have you marrying for a home.” “This is your home,” Sophia said gently. “No sentiment, Sophia, please. You’re making the child cry. The Malletts don’t marry, Henrietta. Look at us, as happy as the day is long, with all the fun and none of the trouble. We’ve been terrible flirts, Sophia and I. Rose is different, but at least she hasn’t married. The three Miss Malletts of Nelson Lodge! Now there are four of us, and you must keep up our reputation.”