Cherie was ready first. She flung her striped bath-robe over her shoulders and picked up Amour who was wriggling and barking at her pink heels. "Au revoir dans l'eau," she said to little Mireille and to the German nursery governess, Frieda. "Oh, Frieda, vite, vite, degrafez-moi," cried Mireille, backing towards the hard-faced young woman and indicating a jumble of knotted tapes hanging down behind her. "Speak English, please, both. This is our English day," said Frieda, standing in her petticoat-bodice in front of the mirror and removing what the girls called her "Wurst" from the top of her head. In the glass she caught sight of Cherie making for the door and called her back sharply. "Mademoiselle Cherie, you go not in the street without your stockings and your hat." "Nonsense, Frieda! In Westende every one goes to bathe like this," and Cherie waved a bare shapely limb and flicked her pink toes at Amour, who barked wildly at them. "I do not care how every one goes. You go not," said Frieda Rothenstein, hanging her sleek brown Wurst carefully on the mirror-stand. "Then what have we come here for?" sulked Cherie, dropping Amour and giving him a soft kick with her bare foot."