“I do not,” returned Sallie. “But don’t be frightened—there isn’t anything about this to frighten you.”
“Some one from Lakeville? Not Mr. Black?”
“No. You must come down and see for yourself. I was told to bring you.”
“I believe you and Maude have been up to some trick. You’re just fooling me. There couldn’t be a gentleman in the library to see me.”
“But there is,” declared Sallie. “You’ll just hate yourself if you don’t hurry. Do start. I want to see you moving before I deliver this Special Delivery letter to Isabelle—two cent stamps aren’t swift enough for Clarence.”
Henrietta laid her hairbrush down deliberately and started leisurely toward the door.
“Come on, Marjory,” said she, “I ought to have a chaperon if there really is a gentleman, but I’m pretty sure it’s Maude—she loves to dress up and play jokes on us. She might as well have two victims.”
“Do you suppose,” queried Marjory, in an awe-stricken whisper, when the pair had reached the top of the last long flight of stairs, “that it’s that silly Theolog that wrote you a note after he saw you at the concert? There really is a hat on the hat rack.”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” admitted Henrietta. “The silly goose makes eyes at me every Sunday. But surely he wouldn’t have the nerve to call here. If that’s who it is, I shall walk right back upstairs. I know it’s some joke. Sallie’s eyes were just dancing. Just at first I was frightened but I could see by Sallie’s face that it wasn’t anything dreadful.”
“You go ahead,” said Marjory. “If it really is your visitor—”