Mr. Smith, at his table in the corner, glanced nervously toward the door, then bent assiduously over his work, as being less conspicuous than the flight he had been tempted for a moment to essay. But even this was not to be, for the next moment, to his surprise, the girl appealed directly to him.
“Mr. Smith, please, won’t you take me somewhere to-morrow?”
“Mellicent!” Even Miss Maggie was shocked now, and showed it.
“I can’t help it, Aunt Maggie. I’ve just got to be away!” Mellicent’s voice was tragic.
“But, my dear, to ask a gentleman—” reproved Miss Maggie. She came to an indeterminate pause. Mr. Smith had crossed the room and dropped into a chair near them.
“See here, little girl, suppose you tell us just what is behind—all this,” he began gently.
Mellicent shook her head stubbornly.
“I can’t. It’s too—silly. Please let it go that I want to be away. That’s all.”
“Mellicent, we can’t do that.” Miss Maggie’s voice was quietly firm. “We can’t do—anything, until you tell us what it is.”
There was a brief pause. Mellicent’s eyes, still mutinous, sought first the kindly questioning face of the man, then the no less kindly but rather grave face of the woman. Then in a little breathless burst it came.