The small red breakfast-room at “The Oaks” was always cosey for the early meal that Jasper took every morning before he grasped the “little publishing bag” and hurried off for his train. Polly sat behind the coffee-urn, pouring a cup for him.
“Why, Phronsie!” she exclaimed in surprise; then she asked, “does Grandpapa know?”
“Yes,” said Phronsie; “I told him last night. I was going to tell you, Polly, but you were busy in the den with Jasper.”
“Then I’ll pour you a cup of coffee,” said Polly.
“No,” said Phronsie; “I’ll have just a glass of milk, the same as every day, Polly.”
“O Phronsie!” remonstrated Polly, “take the coffee, do, dear; it will be a hard day in town.”
But Phronsie shook her head. “Polly,” she said, as she got into her chair, and the butler had gone out and closed the door, as he always did that Polly and Jasper might talk through the meal, “I am going to town to see Miss Fitzwilliam.”
“Phronsie!” exclaimed Polly in great dismay, letting fall her spoon; Jasper set down his cup to look at Phronsie.
“Yes, I am,” said Phronsie, beginning to drink her milk. Then she took a piece of toast and buttered it.
“If you are going to town, Phronsie,” began Polly quickly, “do have a hot chop, dear.”