"I've seen the name, 'Mrs. Ballantree MacDonald,'" the detestable girl went on, pushing into the room without asking permission. "She's going to 'open,' as the paper expresses it, in a new play called 'The Nelly Affair,' on Monday night at the Lyceum Theatre. Next Monday! Nearly a week from now! How can I wait—what shall I do till then?"
It was to Somerled that she appealed. She made him feel that the responsibility was his. And it was a bad moment to feel this, because of Mrs. West's telegram from Grandma. He got up from the sofa, still jingling the money in his pockets. Looking down at Aline he saw only her profile and an ear as deeply pink as coral under a loop of blond hair. Evidently she too was feeling the situation. Good of her to take an interest! She really was good. She had asked his advice. Now he would ask hers.
"Mrs. West and I will talk over a plan I have for you," he said to the girl.
"Is it your plan—or hers?" asked Barrie anxiously.
"It will be both by the time you hear it," he answered, with a reassuring smile.
Aline humoured him. "Run away and play, little girl, till the plan is cooked," she gayly cried. "Play with my brother."
Barrie backed out, feeling as if she had been half smothered with a perfumed pillow.
"Do you guess my plan?" asked Ian.
"I wonder?" Aline murmured. She could not have spoken aloud just then.
"It's this. Why shouldn't we take her with us in the car to Edinburgh? We've lots of room."