Mrs. Higgins shook her head sadly.
“Not yet, Miss. Mebbe the telephone’s broke. Is your pap likely to be home, Miss Wilkins?”
“No, he and mother went on a week-end motor trip. Of course he won’t be able to get them!”
“Why didn’t you tell him that?”
She set the tray on a table by the window. The breakfast—fresh peaches with cream, hot biscuits, eggs, and fragrant coffee—certainly looked inviting. Marjorie eyed it critically.
“As a matter of fact, I forgot,” she replied, icily.
“Well, more’s the pity for you! If I know Mr. Higgins, he’ll stay right on the job till he gets an answer. If that’s the case, you needn’t hope to get away till your parents come back.”
Marjorie’s eyes flashed in anger.
“You’re wicked, cruel people!” she cried; “and when my father hears about it, he’ll have you put in prison! So there!”
“But he can’t!” objected Mrs. Higgins. “We’re only tryin’ to help the police catch a runaway gal. That’s obeyin’ the law, ain’t it—not breakin’ it!”