The
telltale spelling and copy-books were flung into the drawer of the
chiffonier, and the key was turned on them. Polly, her immodest sampler
safely hidden at the bottom of her workbox, was the most composed of the
three; and while locks were smoothed and collars adjusted in the
adjoining bedroom, she remained behind to look out thimbles, needles and
strips of plain sewing, and to lay them naturally about the table.
The blonde sisters reappeared, all aglow with excitement. Tilly, in
particular, was in a sad flutter.
"Girls, I simply CAN'T face 'im in 'ere!" she declared. "It was 'ere, in
this very room, that 'e first--you know what!"
"Nor can I," cried Jinny, catching the fever.
"Feel my 'eart, 'ow it beats," said her sister, pressing her hands, one
over the other, to her full left breast.
"Mine's every bit as bad," averred Jinny.
"I believe I shall 'ave the palpitations and faint away, if I stop
'ere."
Polly was genuinely concerned. "I'll run and call mother back."
"No, I tell you what: let's 'ide!" cried Tilly, recovering.
Jinny wavered. "But will they find us?"
"Duffer! Of course. Ma'll give 'em the 'int.--Come on!"
Suiting the action to the word, and imitated by her sister, she
scrambled over the window sill to the verandah. Polly found herself
alone. Her conscientious scrupling: "But mother may be cross!" had
passed unheeded. Now, she, too, fell into a flurry. She could not remain
there, by herself, to meet two young men, one of whom was a stranger:
steps and voices were already audible at the end of the passage.
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