“I must get Poley to sponge and press the crimson cashmere, and then that will do to travel in, and with care it may last the rest of the winter,” she said patiently, as she locked her trunk and her bureau drawers and returned to her little parlor, where she sat down to work on a doll’s dress, or what might have passed for such.
While thus engaged she sang a sweet nursery song that was a reminiscence of her own infancy.
Presently Cleve came in, smiling.
“Well, dear,” he said, “I have paid the rent and given up the rooms, though I had to pay another month’s rent in lieu of a month’s warning; and I have settled every other outstanding bill except the milkman’s. I could not find man or bill if I tried, I suppose.”
“No; there is no bill. We buy tickets, and pay cash, and we have seven tickets left.”
“Then the man can have the benefit, for we go away to-day.”
“From the city?”
“No; from the flat. We will go to a hotel to-night, and go to Washington to-morrow, en route for West Virginia. Can you pack up in that time?”
“I can pack up in an hour,” replied Palma.
As she spoke the hall boy knocked and entered the room, showing in a man with a bundle.