beg your pardon, Mr. Barrow,” she said stiffly. “I do not understand.”
“Birthday presents,” said Mr. Barrow in the same critical manner, “to a child eleven years old! Mad extravagance, I call it.”
Miss Minchin drew herself up still more rigidly.
“Captain Crewe is a man of fortune,” she said. “The diamond mines alone—”
Mr. Barrow wheeled round upon her. “Diamond mines!” he broke out. “There are none! Never were!”
Miss Minchin actually got up from her chair.
“What!” she cried. “What do you mean?”
“At
returned Sara. “Just look and see! How do you know mine are fairy stories? But I can tell you”—with a fine bit of unheavenly temper—“you will never find out whether they are or not if you’re not kinder to people than you are now. Come along, Lottie.” And she marched out of the room, rather hoping that