It was so like Joel's invitation to "Come on and have it out now," that not a single man of them stirred.
"Then I will have the pleasure of bidding you good-by," said Mr. King, and the next moment he was outside of No. 23, while perfect silence reigned within.
Polly came slowly down Mrs. Higby's front stairs and looked at Phronsie standing at the further end of the entry.
"What's the matter, Phronsie?" at last she asked.
For the first time in her life Phronsie seemed unable to answer Polly, and she stood quite still, her gaze fastened on the big-flowered muslin curtain that swung back and forth in the breeze that came through the open window.
"Now, Phronsie," said Polly very decidedly, and going up to her, "you must tell me what the matter is."
"I can't," said Phronsie, in a low tone, "don't ask me, Polly."
"Can't tell me everything?" cried Polly. "Dear me, what nonsense,
Phronsie. Come now, begin, there's a dear."
"But I am not to tell," persisted Phronsie, shaking her head. Then she drew a long breath, and looked as if she were going to cry.
"Who has been telling you things?" cried Polly, her brown eyes flashing, "that you are not to tell? It is Mrs. Cabot. I know it is, for there is no one else here who would do it."