“And—we couldn’t find the Town Hall.”
“Oh, Phyllis!” groaned Mrs. Hilary.
Little Miss Phyllis looked alarmed for a moment. Then she smiled.
“But we found the confectioner’s,” said she.
“The Grand Prix,” said I, pointing my forefinger at Hilary.
“He had no money at all,” said Miss Phyllis.
“It’s ideal!” said I.
“And—and we had tea on—on—”
“The shilling?” I cried in rapture.
“Yes,” said little Miss Phyllis, “on the shilling. And he saw me home.”