"He's gone—gone—gone!" something sad and lonesome was saying in my heart. "What if he should be suddenly called back to Pittsburgh and I shouldn't see him again?"
To see the very last of him I had dropped down beside the front door, with my face pressed against the lace-veiled glass, and so intent was I upon my task that I had entirely failed to hear mother's agitated step in the hall above.
I was brought to, however, when I heard the click of the electric switch upon the stair. The lower hall was suddenly flooded with light. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could. Mother's face, peering at me from the landing, was already pronouncing sentence.
"Grace, I was just coming down to tell you that—well, I am compelled to say that you amaze me!" she emitted first, with a tone of utter hopelessness struggling through her newly-fired anger. "Down on your knees in your new gown—and gowns as scarce as angels' visits, too!"
"Ah—but—I'm sorry—"
"What on earth are you doing there?" she kept on.
I turned to her, blinking in the dazzling light.
"I was—let me see?—oh, yes!" A brilliant thought had just come to me. "—I was looking for the key!"
Now, I happen to hate a liar worse than anything else on earth, and I hated myself fervently as I told this one.