Flora paused for an instant, changing from one arm to the other the huge bundle of flowers the elder Miss McKelvey had thrust at her upon entering. A wan, resigned smile trembled on her lips, and then she tossed her head ever so slightly.
“Oh, what’s the difference!” she exclaimed to herself, and then she followed the others up the broad flight of stairs.
Still, she was somewhat relieved to find no one but her brother in the room into which the visitors led the way. She did not know just what had happened, but she did not ask any questions. And then she heard the murmur of voices up in the attic, and understood.
She brought a vase and put the flowers into it. “Don’t they look beautiful?” she asked. She had to lift her voice a little, because both of the McKelvey girls were talking at once.
“They certainly do!” came the response in a wholly unexpected voice, and Flora turned and beheld the animated face of Mrs. Harrod, framed in the doorway.
“Mrs. Shepard asked me to come on up,” said Mrs. Harrod. She looked about her as if the room were empty. “Flora,” she demanded, “where’s that child?” She had laid eager hands upon Flora’s shoulders and kissed her flushed cheek with genuine affection. She had also taken a second to glance at the McKelvey girls and say: “How-do, young ladies?”
“Child?” echoed Miss Baron.
“That perfect little creature, who was here the last time I was. I did hope she’d let me in again. Such angelic manners! You don’t mean to say you’ve let her go?”
“Oh, Bonnie May! No, she hasn’t gone. She’s quite one of us now. Where is she, Victor?”
Baron fidgeted. “She went up into the attic, I believe.”