"Oh! don't, Cathie," begged Polly in distress.
"Why not, pray tell," whirling on one set of toes. "You needn't be afraid they won't be good. I've made them thousands of times."
"But she couldn't eat them," said Polly. "Just think, almond macaroons!
Why, Papa-Doctor would"—
"Now I know the doctor makes you take perfectly terrible things, and won't let you eat anything. And macaroons are the only things I can make. It's a shame!" and down sat Cathie in despair on an ottoman.
"What's the matter?" Dr. Fisher put his head in at the doorway, his spectacled eyes sending a swift glance of inquiry around.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Cathie in a fright, jumping up and clutching the arm of the girl next to her. "Don't let Polly tell him what I said—don't."
"Polly won't tell," said the girl, with a superb air; "don't you know any better, Cathie Harrison, you goose, you!"
To be called a goose by two persons in the course of an hour was too much for Cathie's endurance, and flinging off the girl's arm, she cried out passionately, "I won't stay; I'm going home!" and rushed out the door.
Dr. Fisher turned from a deliberate look at the girl's white cheeks, as she ran past, to the flushed ones before him.
"I'm very sorry that anything unpleasant has happened. I dropped in to tell you of a little surprise, but I see it's no time now."