“Go, then! I don’t care.”
“You wouldn’t like me to go, I know.”
“You daren’t. That’s what it is.”
“I dare.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Oh, I am going; but you’ll see what will be the end of it.”
Polly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harry started. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr Skratdj had especially announced that morning that he did not wish to be disturbed, and though he was a favourite, Harry had no desire to invade the dining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery, and said with a magnanimous air, “I don’t want to get you into a scrape, Polly. If you’ll beg my pardon I won’t go.”
“I’m sure I sha’n’t,” said Polly, who was equally well informed as to the position of affairs at head-quarters. “Go, if you dare.”
“I won’t if you want me not,” said Harry, discreetly waiving the question of apologies.
“But I’d rather you went,” said the obdurate Polly. “You’re always telling tales. Go and tell now, if you’re not afraid.”