She quickly took pen and paper from a drawer and began to write, while D. Wragg jerked himself out of the door.
“Why, Harry,” said Lionel, staring hard at the fair little writer the while, “depend upon it that old chap has cut with the money, and we shall never see him again. But never mind; he has left us a jolly little hostage, and we can take her instead.”
Harry Clayton bit his lips, for his fingers itched to seize Lionel by the collar, and shake him till he could not speak; but he felt that he could do nothing now but suffer for his want of frankness, as he saw the pretty little head bent down over the paper.
“What a charming handwriting!” continued Lionel, in the bantering tones, for he had seen Harry’s annoyance. “What well-shaped letters! By the way, my dear, what boarding-school were you at?”
Patty’s crimson face was raised to his for an instant, but her eye fell beneath his bold stare, and she went on writing with trembling hand.
“I shall place that receipt amongst my treasures,” said Lionel, “and—”
“Have the goodness to recollect where you are,” said Harry, angrily. “Your banter is out of place and offensive.”
Lionel stared, laughed, and elevated his eyebrows, as, without bestowing upon him another glance, Patty took the slip of paper she had written, and handed it to Harry, meeting his eyes for the moment fully as she said in a low voice, “Thank you!” and then she passed out of the shop.