"Please, Hattie!" pleaded Mrs. Milo. "We must be discreet!" Then to change the subject, "My dear, let me see the back."
Once more Hattie revolved accommodatingly. Close to the door leading to the lawn was a door which led, by a short passage, to the little, old Gothic church which, long planted on its generous allowance of grounds, had defied—along with an Orphanage that was all but a part of the Church, so near did the two buildings stand—the encroachment of new, tall, office structures. As Hattie turned about, she kept her watch on the door leading to the Church.
"It's really very sweet," condescended Mrs. Milo. "But—you mustn't let Wallace get a glimpse of this dress before tomorrow." She shook a playful finger. "That would be bad luck. Now,—what does Susan think of it?" She seated herself to receive the verdict.
Hattie wagged her head in mock despair. "Oh," she complained, "how I've tried to find out!"
All Mrs. Milo's playfulness went. She stood up, her manner suddenly anxious. "Isn't she upstairs?" she asked.
One solemn finger was pointed ceilingward. "I have even paged the attic!"
Mrs. Milo hastened across the room. "Why, she must be upstairs," she cried. "I sent her up not an hour ago."
"Well, the villain has just naturally come down."
"Susan! Susan!"—Mrs. Milo was calling into the hall leading to the upper floors of the Rectory. "Look in the vestibule, Hattie."
"Perhaps she has escaped to the Orphanage." Hattie gave a teasing laugh over her shoulder as she moved to obey.