“We would be pleased to see Miss Solly Adams also,” said Miss Martha.
Flora Carruth echoed her. “I was so glad to hear another nice girl had come to the village,” said she with enthusiasm. Miss Dorothy Vernon said something indefinite to the same effect.
“I am sorry,” replied Sally, with an effort, “but there is no Miss Solly Adams here now.” She spoke the truth as nearly as she could manage without unraveling the whole ridiculous affair. The callers sighed with regret, tea was served with little cakes, and they fluttered down the walk, holding their card-cases, and that ordeal was over.
But Sally sought the rector in his study, and she was trembling. “Edward,” she cried out, regardless of her husband's sermon, “something must be done now.”
“Why, what is the matter, Sally?”
“People are—calling on her.”
“Calling on whom?”
“Big sister—Solly!” Sally explained.
“Well, don't worry, dear,” said the rector. “Of course we will do something, but we must think it over. Where is the child now?”
“She and Jim are out in the garden. I saw them pass the window just now. Jim is such a dear boy, he tries hard to be nice to her. Edward Patterson, we ought not to wait.”