"It's not for you, Bertha," said Dolly, "and don't you interrupt. It's for—it's for Kitty Sharston."
"For me?" cried Kitty. "Oh, what a love you are, Dolly; come and sit on my lap. Is it a box of bon-bons or is it a letter?"
"Guess again," said Dolly, clapping her hand to her little mouth, and looking intensely mysterious. Her blue eyes rolled roguishly round until they fixed themselves on Edith King's face, then she looked again at Kitty as solemn as possible.
"You guess again," she said; "I'll give you five guesses. Now, then, begin right away."
"It's the book that Annie Wallace said she would lend me—that's it, now, isn't it, Dolly? See, I'll feel in your pinafore."
"No, it's not—wrong again," said Dolly; "that's three guesses—two more."
Kitty made another guess—wrong again. Finally Dolly was induced to unfold her pinafore, and inside lay an unopened telegram.
Now, in those days telegrams were not quite as common as they are now. In the first place, they cost a shilling instead of sixpence, which made a vast difference in their number. Kitty's face turned slightly pale, she gripped the telegram, shook little Dolly off her lap, stood up, and, turning her back to the girls, proceeded to open it. Her slim, long fingers shook a little as she did so. She soon had the envelope torn asunder and had taken out the pink sheet within. She unfolded it and read the words. As she did so her face turned very white. "Is the messenger waiting for an answer?" she said, turning to Dolly.
"Yes," replied Dolly; "he is waiting up at the Court."
"Then I must run away at once and answer this," said Kitty. "Oh, I wonder if I have got money enough!"