Flora leaned back against the mantel almost limply and laughed—not the laugh of Bonnie May’s lessons, but the old contralto gurgle. “Nothing,” she said. Her cheeks flamed, her eyes were filled with a soft light.
“Mr. Addis has called to see Miss Baron,” announced Mrs. Shepard truculently in the doorway.
“I’ll go right down,” said Flora.
“Oh!” exclaimed the elder Miss McKelvey.
“Oh!” echoed her sister.
They arose as by a common impulse and stole out into the hall. “We don’t care if we do,” they flung back in a whisper as they tiptoed to the stair railing. They came hurrying back with ecstatic twitterings. “You know you never entertain company in that dark room down-stairs, Flora Baron! You’ve got to bring him up!”
Flora gazed at them in rebellious misery.
“Well, then,” exclaimed the younger Miss McKelvey, seizing her sister’s hand, “we’ll go up into the attic!”
And they were gone.
“Oh!” cried Flora hopelessly, “it shows what one criminal act will lead to!”