shirking work nowadays. And you're as bad as anyone. You've not tried
to pick up the threads again--you're just idling round."

"It's catching, I expect," temporised Nan beguilingly.

But the lines on Penelope's face refused to relax.

"It's because it's easier to play than to work," she replied with grim
candour.

"Don't scold, Penny." Nan brought the influence of a pair of appealing
blue eyes to bear on the matter. "I really mean to begin work--soon."

"When?" demanded the other searchingly.

Nan's charming mouth, with its short, curved upper lip, widened into a
smile of friendly mockery.

"You don't expect me to supply you with the exact day and hour, do you?
Don't be so fearfully precise, Penny! I can't run myself on railway
time-table lines. You need never hope for it."

"I don't"--shortly. Adding, with a twinkle: "Even I'm not quite such an
optimist as that!"

As she spoke, Penelope laid down her sewing and stretched cramped arms
above her head.

"At this point," she observed, "the House adjourned for tea. Nan, it's
your week for domesticity. Go and make tea."