“Umph!” said Flora; “beauty and manners seemed to me much on a par. This is one of papa’s swans, indeed!”
“I can’t believe it was Miss Walkingham at all,” said Ethel. “It must have been some boy in disguise.”
“Dear me!” cried Margaret, starting with the painful timidity of helplessness.
“Do look whether anything is gone. Where’s the silver inkstand?”
“You don’t think she could put that into her pocket,” said Ethel, laughing as she held it up.
“I don’t know. Do, Harry, see if the umbrellas are safe in the hall. I wish you would, for now I come to remember, the Walkinghams went at nine this morning. Miss Winter said that she saw the old lady helped into the carriage, as she passed.” Margaret’s eyes looked quite large and terrified. “She must have been a spy—the whole gang will come at night. I wish Richard was here. Harry, it really is no laughing matter. You had better give notice to the police.”
The more Margaret was alarmed, the more Harry laughed. “Never mind, Margaret, I’ll take care of you! Here’s my dirk. I’ll stick all the robbers.”
“Harry! Harry! Oh, don’t!” cried Margaret, raising herself up in an agony of nervous terror. “Oh, where is papa? Will nobody ring the bell, and send George for the police?”
“Police, police! Thieves! Murder! Robbers! Fire! All hands ahoy!” shouted Harry, his hands making a trumpet over his mouth.
“Harry, how can you?” said Ethel, hastily; “don’t you see that Margaret is terribly frightened. Can’t you say at once that it was you?”