She sped on up the stairs. After her first imperative inquiries of the mirror concerning what she considered her wild appearance, she picked up the letters on her dressing table and began to run through them.
The large black type of an advertising dodger loomed among the letters.
Pauline tripped down the stairs. To Harry, seated on the steps enjoying the Spring sunshine and puffing a leisurely cigarette, appeared a mysterious vision.
He knew by the elaborate way in which she took her seat beside him and hid the piece of paper in her hand that she had some new whim in fermentation—something to ask him that she knew he wouldn't want to do.
"Yes," he said, moving along the step away from her. "I know you've just bought me the loveliest cravat, that I'm the nicest brother in the world, that I look so handsome in Springy things and—well, what it is?"
Pauline pouted at the other end of the step.
"I'm going up in a balloon and jump down," she announced, "from a height never before attempted."
"Polly I You are going to do nothing of the—"
"No, I wasn't going to, until you grew so great and grand. I just wanted to go over and see him fly."
She tossed the dodger over to him. He glanced at it.