“I’ll answer it,” Irene cried. “I feel like surprising somebody and I’m sure, whoever it is, they’ll be terribly surprised.”
They were all watching Irene as she danced toward the door, quite unprepared for the kind of surprise that awaited her on the other side.
She swung it open. There, framed in the doorway, stood Her Majesty, Emily Grimshaw.
“I’ve come to settle with you, Joy Holiday,” she shouted and raised a threatening finger at Irene.
The three boys stared in blank bewilderment. They had never seen this strange old lady and imagined that she must be an escaped inmate from some near-by asylum—except that she had used the now familiar name, Joy Holiday.
Chairs were pushed back from the table. Dale Meredith rose and strode over to the door, followed by Judy and Peter.
“What’s this?” the indignant young author demanded. “Miss Grimshaw, what’s the big idea of storming in here and frightening Irene?”
“Who has a better right?” she retorted belligerently.
Taking her gently by the shoulders, Peter pushed her into a chair. “Sit down quietly now while we finish dinner. No need to raise a row about it. I’m sure Irene will be glad to listen to what you have to say.”
“Irene, nothing!” she fumed. “That girl’s Johanna Holiday, the wench who made away with her mother’s poetry. I know you!” She pointed a shaking finger at the trembling Irene.