“Well, let’s,” Pauline agreed.
“Aren’t they delicious?” said Rosie.
And only in the girlish hop, skip, and jump, which landed them gracefully on a car, was there a hint of the pent-up vivacity which surged in their veins—a hint that vanished as rapidly as it had showed itself. As Rosie smoothed out her skirt, and as Pauline opened the purse in her gloved hand to give two pence to the conductor, they had the utter demureness of duchesses.
The car was open to the sky, with crosswise seats, and, as it sailed rapidly down the Central Way, constantly passing other cars coming in the opposite direction, and passing fountains and flower-beds and elephants and camels, and all the strange world of the City, the pleasure became rather too keen for Rosie’s mercurial heart. She took Pauline’s hand and pressed it, sitting a little bit closer to her.
“Suppose we meet him?” she whispered.
“What? In this crowd? Never! Besides, he isn’t likely to be outside,” said Pauline.
She was only a few minutes older than Rosie, but she could not have played the elder sister more completely had she been ten years older.
“We might meet her, anyway!” murmured Rosie.
“Nonsense, Rosie. You don’t imagine she’ll be here, do you?”
“I don’t know,” said Rosie, lifting her chin. “But suppose we do meet him, or either of them.”