“Oh, dear me! well, you are stupid—I mean! well, I wish I could tell you, but I suppose I mustn’t.”
“And what made everybody look so queer when I spoke his name, when Mrs. King said that the Fishers were going to Rome?” asked Grace, recognizing here a mystery, and meaning to get at the bottom of it. “Why did they, Mrs. Dodge?”
“Oh, dear me! Algernon, would you tell her?” asked his mother.
“Ar-goo!” said Algernon, having recovered himself, and finding it very pleasant to pull at the pillow-shams.
“There, since that blessed child says so, I believe I ought to tell you, Grace!” said Alexia; “and besides, all our set, the old friends I mean, know it. Why, Phronsie Pepper and Roslyn May are lovers.”
Grace gave a squeal that entirely threw Algernon’s into the shade, as she hopped off from the bed, and ran around into Alexia’s arms. “Oh, say that again—do say it again, dear Mrs. Dodge!” she cried with blazing cheeks.
“Ar-goo!” said Algernon, finding it very pleasant to pull at the pillow-shams.
“Oh, my goodness me!” cried Alexia, feeling of her throat; “how you scared me, Grace! And you’ve frightened this blessed child;” as Algernon put up his little lip, and scuttled over like a rabbit to the side of the bed next to his mother.
“I can’t help it—I can’t help it,” cried Grace wildly, and spinning around the room on her toes; “to think that my dear Miss Phronsie Pepper loves my cousin Roslyn May—oh, oh!”