“What's that O'Neill girl?” demanded Missy, in a low, suppressed voice.
“Well, if you ask me, her head's full of—”
But a swift gesture from mother brought Aunt Nettie to a sudden pause.
But Missy, suspecting an implied criticism of her friend, began with hauteur:
“I implore you to desist from making any insinuation against Tess O'Neill. I'm very proud to be epris with her!” (Missy made the climactic word rhyme with “kiss.”)
There was a little hush after this outburst from the usually reserved Missy. Father and mother stared at her and then at each other. But Aunt Nettie couldn't refrain from a repetition of the climactic word;
“E-priss!” And she actually giggled!
At the sound, Missy felt herself growing “deathly mute, even to the lips”, but she managed to maintain a mien of intense composure.
“What does that mean, Missy?” queried father.
He was regarding her kindly, with no hint of hidden amusement. Father was a tall, quiet and very wise man, and Missy had sometimes found it possible to talk with him about the unusual things that rose up to fascinate her. She didn't distrust him so much as most grown-ups.