the same time, she let the books stand on her bookcase, instead of hiding them (as some girls might have hidden them) in her closet. It had never been a family rule that she must ask, before reading new authors, and yet she knew perfectly well that in reading “The Countess” she had not done right. On the other hand, she eased her conscience by saying to herself that she did not hide her books, and that if her mother should happen to examine her bookshelves she would find these novels, and could express herself about them.
“In fact,” so her thoughts ran on, “I am not sure that she has not seen them; and as she has n’t said anything to me about them, she must think them all right.”
But Mrs. Barlow, if she had noticed these books in Brenda’s room, had never really examined them. They were as innocent in appearance, when one looked only at their backs, as “Dosia” or “Le Roi de Montagnes,” which had a place on the same shelves, and, like the English novels, were bound in paper covers.
Now Nora, perceiving that the subject was not altogether an agreeable one to Brenda, said no more about the tabooed books. But she laid the matter up in her mind, intending, as soon as she could, to make an opportunity to speak about them.
The very next day, fairly early in the afternoon, Julia arrived from Cambridge.
“You really do look pale,” cried Nora, after the first greetings had been exchanged. “I am going to join Brenda in pitying you.”
