“Oh, I expect it’ll be all right. Michael has money.”
“I say you shall not marry him,” Sylvia almost shouted.
“Oh, don’t keep on so,” Lily fretfully implored. “It gives me a headache. I won’t marry him if it’s going to upset you so much. But you mustn’t leave me alone with him again, because he worries me just as much as you do.”
“We’ll go away to-morrow,” Sylvia announced, abruptly. It flashed upon her that she would like to go to Sirene with Lily, but, alas! there was not enough money for such a long journey, and Bournemouth or Brighton must be the colorless substitute.
Lily cheered up at the idea of going away, and Sylvia was half resentful that she could accept parting from Michael so easily. Lily’s frocks were not ready the next day, and in the morning Michael’s ring was heard.
“Oh, now I suppose we shall have more scenes,” Lily complained.
Sylvia ran after Mrs. Gainsborough, who was waddling down the garden path to open the door.
“Come back, come back at once!” she cried. “You’re not to open the door.”
“Well, there’s a nice thing. But it may be the butcher.”
“We don’t want any meat. It’s not the butcher. It’s Fane. You’re not to open the door. We’ve all gone away.”