"Miss Jessup thought it was more—fitting, with the French authors," observed Henrietta.
"So it is," agreed Murchison, dryly. "So it is. The excellent Miss Jessups—how well they know!"
"He's guying her," chuckled Sissy, making a mental vow to read Daudet or die in the attempt. "And she doesn't know it."
"Hush!" came from Split.
In a tenor a bit foggy, but effectively sympathetic, old Westlake was singing, "Oh, would that we two were maying!"
Sissy put her eye to the crack of the door, and Split, watching her, saw her round face grow red and indignant.
"What is it?" she whispered, squirming till she too had an eye glued to the crack.
"Look!" exclaimed Sissy, disgustedly.
Straight in their line of vision sat Kate, and upon her old Westlake's eyes were ardently fixed as he sang.
"It's—it's not decent," declared Sissy, wrathfully.