But Polly fled at the first sound of her voice, and was out of sight in a moment, while the errand-boy’s loud laugh sounded as he ran after her.
“Put those things up, Miss Whittaker,” said Mrs Lee, turning blandly to her customer. “Some mistake, ma’am.”
“Why, Miss Lee,” said Florence, “I thought I was to be civil just the same to everyone, and show as many articles as the customers wish.”
“You had better not be impertinent,” said Miss Lee. “Wait till my mother is at leisure.”
In the almost vacant hour at one o’clock Mrs Lee turned round to her assistant, and demanded what she meant by her extraordinary behaviour.
Florrie looked at her. She did feel a little frightened, but the intense delight of carrying the sensation a stage farther mastered her, and she said:
“The boy there, yesterday, when you saw us down by the river, dared me to show Polly the fine things in the shop, or to notice her up here. So I said, ‘Let her come and try.’ And she came just now, so I kept my word. There ain’t no harm done.”
It was the absolute truth, but telling the truth under the circumstances, with never a blush or an excuse, was hardly a virtue.
“Do you mean to say you have dared to play a practical joke on me and my establishment—that you have been that audacious?” exclaimed Mrs Lee.
“I didn’t know it was a joke,” said Florrie. “You didn’t laugh.”