“Humph!” vouchsafed Cyril.
For a moment no one spoke. Cyril's eyes were on Marie, who was nervously trying to smooth back a few fluffy wisps of hair that had escaped from restraining combs and pins.
“What's the matter with the hair, little girl?” asked Cyril in a voice that was caressingly irritable. “You've been fussing with that long-suffering curl for the last five minutes!”
Marie's delicate face flushed painfully.
“It's got loose—my hair,” she stammered, “and it looks so dowdy that way!”
Billy dropped her thread suddenly. She sprang for it at once, before Cyril could make a move to get it. She had to dive far under a chair to capture it—which may explain why her face was so very red when she finally reached her seat again.
On the morning of the tenth, Billy, Marie, and Aunt Hannah were once more sewing together, this time in the little sitting-room at the end of the hall up-stairs.
Billy's fingers, in particular, were flying very fast.
“I told John to have Peggy at the door at eleven,” she said, after a time; “but I think I can finish running in this ribbon before then. I haven't much to do to get ready to go.”
“I hope Kate's train won't be late,” worried Aunt Hannah.