Honor faltered her thanks; with great pleasure would she do herself the honor—
“That’s good! Miss Folly will come for you at a quarter before six. Au revoir, child!”
She nodded dismissal. Honor’s head was spinning; her heart was beating fast; but she made her best courtesy, and murmuring, “Au revoir, madame! Au plaisir, mademoiselle!” she turned and scurried away toward the group of girls, who, at the further end of the Gardens, were turning eager heads in her direction. On the way, she caught sight of Patricia, taking her solitary walk in a shady by-path, and stopped short, her heart beating louder than ever. She could not—how could she pass Patricia without a word?
A squirrel was hopping along the path, expectant of nuts.
“Squirrel!” cried Honor. The squirrel stopped; Patricia turned, saw her, and stopped too. “Give my love to Patricia!” Honor addressed Master Frisky, breathlessly. “Tell her we miss her dreadfully! And—squirrel—tell her I am going to supper at the hotel with my grandfather’s cousin, Mrs. Damian, who has been in Russia. Tell her it’s that beautiful old lady we saw the other day. That’s all!” and kissing her hand—but not to the squirrel—Honor ran on.
The girls surged round her like a wave; questions flew like spray. What? Who? Why? How? She was explaining as well as she could, when Miss Folly appeared, very bright-eyed, a little out of breath from walking quickly.
“Excuse me!” she said with a smile, as the girls drew back in confusion. “Miss Honor, Mrs. Damian asks what you like best to eat.”
Honor fairly gasped. “Oh! oh, mademoiselle, it is of no import! Anything that Madame—”
Miss Folly dismissed the remark with a gesture. “What do you like best?” she repeated. “Mrs. Damian wishes to know.”
“Oh! oh, dear! ice-cream!” faltered Honor.